The Siege of Mirkwood
by laceefun
Summary: After failing to destroy Lothlorien, Dol Guldur decides to switch tactics and attack Thranduil's palace. Defeated and kept prisoner in his own kingdom, will Thranduil be able to repel the evil back? Will anybody be able to save the woodland realm?
1. Prologue

**The Siege of Mirkwood**

**Hi, this is my first fanfic and I'm really nervous about posting it. English is not my first language so I have limited expression (which is really sad) and some of the expressions might sound a little essay-ish. I read a ton of fanfics from this site and I respect all the writers and their creativity and skill. I hope you enjoy reading my story as well.**

**I really really love The Lord of the Rings and Tolkien's creativity. I respect all people that express their ideas through words or art because the ability to be able to express an infinite web of ideas excites me. I guess that's why I find Tolkien's books really fascinating.**

**I found out a couple of days before I came up with this story that Lothlorien battled Dol Guldur three times before Galadriel destroyed it completely. Dol Guldur also attacked Mirkwood once, but there weren't many details about it. So, I thought, 'What if Dol Guldur succeeded in conquering Mirkwood? What would happen then?' Also, I'm a little crazy over Thranduil right now because of the Hobbit movies so I wanted to do a story with a lot of Thranduil in it. Because we all love him right?**

**Also, although it's a story with a LOT of elves, I don't know any elvish so I'm not going to put many elvish sentences in this story. Maybe a few words I know, but no sentences. Sorry about that. The names are also from name generators from the Internet so bear with me even if they sound a little awkward.**

**Ps. I've heard that nobody really knows the real names of the Nazgul? I'm going to use the commonly known but not exactly official names for them. Please correct me if I'm wrong.**

**Summary: After failing to destroy Lothlorien, Dol Guldur decides to switch tactics and attack Thranduil's palace. Defeated and kept prisoner in his own kingdom, will Thranduil be able to repel the evil back? Will anybody be able to save the woodland realm?**

**Rated T for some torture scenes in the future**

**I do not own Lord of the Rings or any other works of Tolkien!**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_"__And it is also said, 'Go not to the elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes."_

_- Frodo Baggins_

The orcs stomped violently through the beautiful forest of Lothlorien, numbers lessened by the elves but still numerous enough to put up a fight on the return journey to Dol Guldur. They had just lost the battle with the Golden Woods and were retreating quickly at the call of their master. Behind them, they could almost hear the rustle of leaves and the twang of bows as the elves of Lorien pursued them, shooting them down like game. Here and there, orcs and wargs fell squealing, penetrated with white feathered shafts. Their comrades growled at the frustration of having to stumble over dead bodies and at the fact that they were forced to run away from the cursed archers. A few stopped to turn around and shoot blindly into the trees in the hope that at least one arrow would catch an elf, but they ended up embedded with three more upon halting.

"_Daro [stop]_," the elf in front whispered, too low for any orc to hear.

The pursuing elves halted immediately upon hearing their captain's order, and watched the orcs continue to trample east through the forest. Although the orcs noticed the elves had stopped shooting, they dared not stop to look back.

"Why are we stopping Haldir? We can easily kill many more of those horrid creatures. Our arrows are plenty," one elf inquired, glaring at the retreating orcs' backs with his piercing eyes.

"It is not the arrows I am concerned about Rumil," said Haldir. "The orcs are almost out of our borders, and it is unnecessary to follow them any further unless you wish to go all the way to the dark fortress with them. Instead, we should go back to Caras Galadhon and inspect the damage they have done."

Rumil hated the idea of having to allow the orcs to continue fouling the air with their presence, but he knew the captain was right. The forest had suffered greatly from Dol Guldur's assault that night.

The attack was so sudden that they would not have been prepared had a patrol not spotted an orc hurrying from one place to another. Probably a lone scout accidentally spotted. When the orc army finally attacked, they came in such strong torrents that the warriors had a hard time keeping them from coming into the golden city. The trees screamed from the fire that was consuming them from the roots. Elves were falling from their positions high up in the trees, shot by black arrows laced with poison. It was horrible to look at, but the warriors desperately defended their home despite the overwhelming number of orcs. It was almost hopeless, but before the foul beings could completely taint Caras Galadhon with their fire and dirty feet, Galadriel descended from her tree and used her ring of power, Nenya, to drive away the beasts. The orcs had not heard of Nenya, a ring so powerful that only Sauron himself could hope to overthrow it, so they scattered like cockroaches in fear of whatever sorcery the elf queen was conjuring. It was a sure victory, but the elves also had lost a lot of lives in the process.

When the wardens returned from their pursuit, they were dismayed at what they found. Golden leaves lay blackened on the ground and many more were falling down along with ashes from withering trees. Here and there elves rushed about carrying the wounded or the dead. It was a pitiful sight and it broke all hearts to witness it.

"Captain Haldir, you have returned. What news do you bring?"

Haldir turned toward the speaker and bowed before the Lord of Lothlorien. The Lord looked tired and disheveled. His blond hair had a grayish tint from the snowing ashes, and his hands and clothes were stained dark-red with the blood of the wounded.

"Lord Celeborn. We have chased away the remaining orcs out of the borders of our lands and killed many more along the way. Fortunately, no more casualties were made on our side."

"That is good to hear. Unfortunately the damage has already been done. Many are suffering from wounds and loss. Luckily, if I dare say so, only the surrounding woods have been badly damaged and the main city remains almost untouched."

Haldir looked around sadly at his ruined, once beautiful home. "How does the Lady fare?" he asked.

"She is tired, but she will be all right after rest. Using the ring takes a great toll on her."

Haldir nodded, wished the Lord and the Lady well, and took his leave to help clean the mess. His brothers Rumil and Orophin followed after.

Haldir had a lot on his mind. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't point out what was so strange about the assault. It was horrible, but they had gained relatively easy victory overnight. Over just one night. Haldir didn't think Dol Guldur would have launched an attack so recklessly only to have it beaten back so quickly. In fact, there was only one wave of attack throughout the whole assault. There were no reinforcements, new weapons, or even a new breed of orc. Orophin noticed his brother's distress and confronted him about it.

"What troubles you brother? You've been quite silent since we parted with Lord Celeborn."

"Am I that obvious? I thought I hide my emotions well. Actually I was just thinking about last night…"

Orophin gave Haldir's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze and said, "We all are. Don't worry, the woods will be back to its original beauty soon enough. We just have to be strong and endure."

Haldir smiled back and squeezed Orophin's hand on his shoulder. "I am not worried about the woods never regaining their beauty. I was actually confused by the assault itself. Did you notice, Orophin? Rumil? The assault ended fairly quickly. Look, the moon hasn't even gone down yet. The orcs attacked at dawn yet dawn is still upon us."

"That is because the Lady used her powers to repel the foul beasts," said Rumil.

"Yes, that is so. But do you really think that the enemy underestimated us so much that they would send only one wave of assault to bring down all of Lorien? The orcs may be mindless servants, but their masters are not. That force was only big enough to cause some destruction, but was not really meant for a siege."

Horror dawned on Orophin's face. "Do you think that they were trying to weaken our defenses then? Will there be another assault?"

"Maybe so, but I think they were testing us. Testing our defenses. Our strengths, our weaknesses. Trying to see what they are up against. Preparing for a bigger battle perhaps," Haldir said.

"That is ill news. We must report it to the Lord and the Lady at once," said Orophin.

"That, I will do. Do not worry for it is just a hunch. Scout the area once more in case there are any lurking orcs nearby." And with that, Haldir hurried off toward Celeborn and Galadriel's chambers.

Galadriel called him inside even before he knocked.

"Something troubles you captain." It was a statement, not a question. Haldir inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"My Lady. I am suspicious of the motives for tonight's assault. The orcs were," he hesitated, "easily pushed back." He could not push away the images of the burnt mallorn trees and the fallen bodies of elves and call the battle 'easy.'

Galadriel looked at him with knowing eyes. She did not look surprised, but although she looked serene, Haldir could see the worry that lingered.

"I have contemplated that myself as well. I did not want to use Nenya for fear of revealing too much to the enemy," Galadriel gazed at her ring and Haldir glanced over to where the ring would be on her finger, but for him, it looked like nothing more than starlight, "but I was forced to do so," she looked back into Haldir's eyes.

"You suspect that the enemy was testing us."

Haldir nodded. "I believe they were trying our strengths and defenses in preparation for a bigger battle or whatever plan they hold for the future."

"I too thought it was odd that no darker force than orcs attempted to breach our defenses. Alas, I am not certain of the exact motives of the enemy, but I know this: a shadow is stirring in Dol Guldur. It is becoming darker and more active. I fear the enemy is planning something. I keep feeling that something is amiss though I do not know what," Galadriel sounded almost frustrated.

"Send a message to Elrond and Thranduil. They should be warned of whatever darkness approaches," she told Haldir.

Haldir nodded and immediately went to look for two messengers he could send.

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><p>A tall, black, cloaked figure stood looking out into the night on the topmost tower of the dark fortress Dol Guldur. He was one of the nine, the Nazgul; second in command to Sauron after the Witch King of Angmar, and was sent back to Dol Guldur to revive the fortress. He was so shrouded in shadow that it was difficult to tell whether he was not a part of it. He didn't turn or move as the Uruk-hai captain in charge of the Lorien assault came stomping in.<p>

"What have you to report?" The Nazgul asked menacingly to the captain, Barash, who stood behind him. Barash stood stoically but that didn't mean that his master didn't terrify him. He wanted to get away from this spot as quickly as possible.

"The Elf Witch. She used some kind of sorcery. My men were almost inside the gates when she came and used her power on us. The Witch!" Barash growled at the memory. "The light burned and we couldn't go no further."

His master didn't answer right away so the uruk proudly continued, "But we burned many of the accursed trees the elf dogs love so much, and killed many more of those filth. They will have a hard time fixing the damage."

The Nazgul stood silent for a few moments, almost making the orc wonder if he had heard him. When Barash's thin patience was starting to wear the figure answered.

"Good. So the Elf Witch possesses great magic as the dark lord suspected. What do the northern scouts say?"

As if on cue, another orc ran into the room. His name was Tarburz, the captain of the Uruk-hai in charge of scouting northern Mirkwood. He was a giant Uruk-hai with sharp fangs and claws. Even among the orcs, he was known for being brutal.

"Master. I got news from our scouts," he started. But then he noticed Barash standing not too far from him, looking extremely annoyed at being interrupted. He smiled smugly knowing that he had just irritated him.

"Well?" The Nazgul was starting to lose his patience at the delay.

"The scouts say that the water is treacherous and the walls hard, but the elf scums only used arrows and knives in battle, not magic."

"No magic you say?" Barash asked.

"None," Tarburz retorted, and looked back at the Master. "Our scouts also found something interesting that you might enjoy." And Tarburz turned toward the entrance and barked orders in the black tongue to bring in the prize. There was a scuffle, and two orcs came in dragging behind them a badly beaten elf. The Nazgul finally turned around to face the two captains and the elf, whose hands were bound behind his back, and was breathing heavily from the beatings and the fear of coming face to face with one of the Nine. The elf looked like he was trying to shrink into himself, overwhelmed by the darkness of the fortress and the Nazgul himself. The Nazgul did not speak immediately, but merely studied the shaking elf. He knew it unnerved and terrified the elf with its silence, and he was relishing every moment of it.

"He was carrying this, my lord. We think it's a message." Tarburz handed his master a piece of rolled parchment. "But we can't read their filthy words." The Nazgul took the parchment and swiftly skimmed it. He walked toward the messenger elf. He towered over the elf threateningly and in a low, raspy voice that hurt for the first-born to listen to asked, "What is this message for?" The elf, although trembling violently, kept his eyes to the ground and stayed silent.

"Staying silent are we?" The Nazgul nodded ever so slightly to one of the orcs holding the elf. The orc took his jagged sword and plunged it deep into the side of the elf, twisting it to get extra effect. The elf's agonized scream rang throughout the fortress and was music to the orcs' ears. He hung limp against his captors, blond hair curtaining his face. He was panting hard, but otherwise quiet. Blood was dripping freely to the floor and it was the only sound along with the elf's breathing that could be heard in the room. The Nazgul looked unusually calm despite the elf's defiance. This unnerved the orcs as much as it did the elf.

"Answer the Master elf scum!" The orc cuffed the back of the elf's head. The elf was unresponsive at first, but after a few deep, shaky breaths, he slowly held his head up. A billion thoughts passed through the elf's head and when he finally looked up at the Nazgul, his eyes were of one who has accepted death.

"You want to know what the parchment says?" He took a deep breath as if it were his final breath and said, "It says, 'Go die and rot somewhere while beasts feast on your remains.' I do not answer to servants of Sauron!" The elf spat. The orcs roared with fury and moved forward to beat the rebellious elf. However, they were stopped by a raspy sound that sounded like scraping two rocks together. The Nazgul was laughing.

"No matter. You are no longer needed." He waved his hand and the orcs cheered and dragged the kicking elf from the room.

"So it's not a message?" Barash asked. Tarburz looked angry at Barash's attempt to bring down his glory.

"It is a message," the Nazgul confirmed, "a message to Thranduil of Mirkwood. The She-elf is warning them of 'impending danger.'" The Nazgul smiled and the orcs could see his wickedly sharp teeth. "So the Mirkwood elfling didn't get the message. This is very good. Prepare the armies. We strike the Golden Wood."

The two captains looked confused as to why they were to attack the Elf Witch's realm when they had failed just a few days ago.

"Why do we strike the woods again?" The Nazgul became angry that the orc captain would dare question his motives, but he kept calm.

"Thranduil does not possess the power the Elf-witch possess. This is your chance to seize the northern forest while the Golden Woods are weakened and unable to send aid."

"But..we can't get through the gates." Barash pointed out.

"You don't need to. Take your force and distract the She-elf. Take her eyes off of the north," The Nazgul said. Then addressing Tarburz he ordered, "You will take your force along with the rest of the army, and march north to Thranduil's gates. Take the king alive. Kill all the others."

"Sha!" Tarburz was not happy that he couldn't kill the elf king. He was looking forward to that. "Why keep him alive?"

"The Witch will dare not attempt to bring the place down as long as they know their kin survives. The king is not a threat as a prisoner unlike her because he possesses no ring. Do not worry of failure. This time, I will accompany your army. Now go! No more questions!" The two orc captains immediately left the room to gather their armies. The Nazgul called out to his winged pet with what sounded like something between a shrill whistle and a shriek. The great winged creature flew down toward its master and rubbed against his hand, purring softly. The Nazgul stroked the chin of his pet almost lovingly.

"My pet. Soon, you will feast on elf flesh."

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><p><strong>If it seems that people like this story, I will continue. I've only written the prologue so far because I wasn't sure how it would turn out. Hope you enjoyed it!<strong>


	2. Chapter 1

**I love you all! Thank you for those who reviewed. It really means a lot to me. Honestly, I was afraid that I wouldn't even get one! You've all encouraged me to continue writing so here's the official chapter 1.**

**A few OCs will be making their way into this story. I'm not a big fan of OCs, but they were necessary because I can't keep saying this elf that elf when referring to random warrior elves can I? :P **

**Don't own Lord of the Rings. Never will. Boo…**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

_"__Mingled with harsh high voices as of birds of prey, and the shrill neighing of horses wild with rage and fear, there came a rending screech, shivering, rising swiftly to a piercing pitch beyond the range of hearing."_

_- From 'The Two Towers'_

To say Thranduil felt bad was an understatement. He was furious. How dare the orcs be so bold as to wander this far north to the borders of his kingdom! He could tell evil was stirring in the dark fortress, and he worried for his _ion_, Legolas. The last time he had seen Legolas was when he sent him to Elrond to convey the message of the creature Gollum's escape. The creature had been a menace ever since he came here, and honestly, Thranduil was glad to be rid of it. But it was still his responsibility and he hated to think that he had failed Mithrandir. Obviously, the task was of great importance, so he had thought to personally send his own son to the council instead of any other messenger. If he had known that Legolas would become one of the nine walkers….

He shook his head and tried not to think about Legolas. He was safe and alive. He knew it in his heart. Thranduil noticed he was absent-mindedly wiping his sword even though it was spotless. The short battle with the orc party was long over, but he was still in his armor. It hadn't been exactly a battle, more of a skirmish. It was probably just an orc scouting party that had strayed too far north; the numbers certainly weren't much. It wasn't really necessary for the king to personally come to the battlefield, but he had to redirect his anxiety for the growing evil somewhere. Apparently it didn't work. It only increased his worry, for he wasn't sure what the orcs were doing so far north. There was a knock on the doors, and he turned around to find his captain of the guard, Laegon, enter his chambers. Laegon bowed his head before the king. Thranduil acknowledged him.

"Laegon."

"My King. We have cleared the lands and chased the remaining orcs from our borders as you have commanded."

Thranduil nodded his approval. "Good, I assume no more warriors were harmed in the process?"

"None, my Lord."

Thranduil nodded again and dismissed the captain with a wave of his hand. The captain seemed to have more to say, but Thranduil ignored it and turned to face the window. Now that the adrenaline had gone down, he was exhausted. Laegon can wait. He slowly and laboriously pulled off his armor and dressed into his elegant, silvery blue sleep gown. He walked over to his large wooden bed, the ends of his gown trailing behind him like ripples, and plopped down with a deep sigh. He smiled to himself as he enjoyed the soft comfort of his bed. He had fought a little too vigorously. It was a miracle he made it out without any critical injuries. In a few minutes, his eyes glazed over into the world of elvish dreams.

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><p>"Captain Laegon, what is your opinion on yesterday's incident?"<p>

It was the next day, and Thranduil was attending a council with his captains. He was garbed in a green and silver robe, wearing his crown of woodland flowers, for it was spring. The council room was filled with the fragrance of flowers and trees.

"Well, my King. I think it was an easy victory with only minor injuries and no deaths on our side. Perhaps it really was just a stray scouting party. I am curious though, as to why there was a scouting party so near our borders in the first place," replied Laegon.

"Perhaps they were passing through the forest towards the Grey Mountains?" inquired one elf.

"What business would they have in the Grey Mountains? Nothing lives there."

The council was bickering with each other about what the true purpose of the orcs was. In truth, Thranduil didn't really care as long as they didn't touch his kingdom. He had his hands full trying to protect it. He didn't have the time, and he certainly didn't have the resources to care about the outside world because he didn't have a ring of power like Galadriel or Elrond. He listened to the captains' debate for a little while more, until he deemed it was time to end this session.

"Never mind what the orcs' goal was. The only thing concerns me is the fact that they dared set their black feet on our borders. Strengthen the borders and patrol regularly, and more frequently. I don't want any more of those foul beings entering my lands," he ordered. "Keep a watchful eye south." And Thranduil stood up, indicating the end of the council; the other elves followed suit.

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><p>The border patrols were on high alert for any signs of an attack; eyes tracking the slightest movement, ears taking in the tiniest sounds, and hands fingering bows with arrows already notched. They were all clad in green and brown to blend in with the trees they were hiding their bodies in. Without the superior eyesight of elves, it would be almost impossible to spot a patrol. The Mirkwood elves were used to hostilities, but because King Thranduil possessed no ring, they had to do the battles the old fashioned way: with swords and bows. But ages of experience have made them strong and adept at fighting, and they were no more inferior in defense as their Lorien or Rivendell counterparts. In fact, they prided in their defense as being impenetrable, and their recent victory with the orc party boosted their confidence even more.<p>

A patrol suddenly drew his bow tight. The female elf next to him stiffened, but didn't say anything, thinking that her comrade had spotted an enemy. She held her breath and got ready to draw her own bow. But after a while, the patrol relaxed his bow, and his comrade relaxed as well.

"What did you see, Celegon?" The female elf, Talia was her name, asked. She and Celegon were under Laegon's command and had been long friends. Some say they harbor feelings for each other, but if they really did, they wouldn't show it.

"I thought I heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed. It seems I was mistaken," he replied, "I am sorry for startling you." He gave Talia a small smile, and Talia smiled back.

"It is better to be cautious than arrogant. Perhaps we should go investigate the sound," she suggested. Celegon nodded and went to inform Captain Laegon about the sound. He leaped from tree to tree with more grace and silence than a bounding deer, his long, light brown hair flowing behind him. His soft shoes made the smallest of noises, which was advantageous in situations that required stealth. Talia continued scrutinizing the borders before them, eyes almost unblinking. The sound of a sword being unsheathed was very curious indeed. Celegon doubted his ears, but Talia knew better than to dismiss the notion altogether. Behind her, she heard the twitter of a bird. She smiled, for she knew that it was no bird. It was Celegon signaling for her to follow. She twittered back an answer and stealthily leaped into the next tree. They kept tweeting to each other to alert one another of their location, but at the same time, not revealing themselves to any potential enemies. As the two elves leaped toward the direction of the sound, Celegon could see a trace of auburn hair among the greenery. He frowned. Talia was too conspicuous; she would be spotted easily by the dullest of dwarves. He was about to make his way towards her to say something about her camouflage when something to his right caught his attention. He quickly signaled for Talia to stop, and strained his senses for anything out of the ordinary.

He noticed the danger a millisecond too late. Celegon's heart stopped for a second when he felt more than saw an arrow slice the air, and heard Talia gasp silently as it made impact on its mark. Despite his fear for his friend, he stayed frozen in his spot, his eyes the only moving body parts as they desperately searched for the archer. There! Those rustle of bushes! He quickly but soundlessly notched an arrow and let it loose. It flew true and he heard a gurgle as it pierced an orc throat. As if that was the cue, a horde of orcs burst out of the bushes and blindly charged towards the trees where Celegon and Talia were stationed. Celegon didn't bother wasting arrows because they were clearly outnumbered. He retreated to where he could see the female archer leaning against the tree, hoping against hope that she wasn't harmed.

Talia's heart was drumming so hard in her chest that she was sure it would pop out any moment now. The arrow had landed directly next to her head, the black tail feathers brushing against her temple. Paralyzed to the spot, she didn't notice Celegon shaking her and trying to get her attention.

"Talia! Awake Talia! We must go now!" Celegon was very relieved that she was not harmed, but was alarmed at the proximity of the arrow. Had Talia tilted her head just a little… he did not want to think about it. He continued calling her name until his firm tone snapped her out of her stupor. She seemed to remember where she was, and obediently followed Celegon back to the patrol station. They must warn the others. The two archers abandoned all efforts to keep hidden in the trees, because the orcs were too close anyway. They zigzagged in random patterns through the treetops to avoid being hit by the arrows. It was slowing them down, but it was important that at least one of them made it back alive to pass the message. Miraculously, the arrows all missed their marks, not even skimming their skins. Perhaps the Valar still blessed them!

After what seemed like an eternity, Celegon and Talia finally found the first border patrol station. The patrols had apparently heard the approaching stampede, for the archers already had their arrows aimed at the army. As soon as the two elves passed safely by the first defense, Captain Laegon gave the command to let fly the arrows. Many orcs fell under the deadly arrows of the Mirkwood army. The elves were shooting so fast that the orcs could barely approach the border.

But the orcs weren't just going to continue being slaughtered without an attack of their own. "Fire!" ordered an orc captain. The archers hidden behind the assault force let loose a hundred thick black arrows at once. Several unlucky elves got struck by the evil weapons and fell without a sound. Some were only injured and screamed terribly at the pain the poison arrows were causing. Laegon quickly summoned Tirnel, the most agile elf in his squad, when he saw that the fight was not going to be a short one.

"Go inform the King of the attack. Be swift!" he ordered. Tirnel bounded away as soon as Laegon finished, alerting the inner defense squads along the way as well.

"Orcs! Orcs! Orcs attack Mirkwood!"

The guards stationed in front of the palace heard before they saw Tirnel sprinting toward the palace. "I bear warnings for the King!" he announced.

"Take him to King Thranduil!" one of the guards told another elf. The elf motioned to Tirnel and hurried up the stairs to the entrance of the throne room. Without knocking, he burst through the doors to find Thranduil had half risen from his throne.

"My King! A messenger brings ill news: orcs are breaching our borders!"

Thranduil tightly furrowed his brows. Again? How foolish of them. "How many?" he asked.

"When I left there were several hundreds of those foul beasts, my Liege, but I believe there are more of them concealed. Captain Laegon is battling them as we speak," Tirnel answered.

"Several hundred orcs and more!" Thranduil exclaimed. "Gather the armies. Prepare for battle." Then the king swiftly walked to his chambers to gather his armor. As he strapped himself up, he couldn't help but feel a little excited to be getting some more action. Of course, he had the occasional dealings with dwarves and the men of Dale, but they were all politics and trade. At least with orcs, he didn't have to be diplomatic about anything.

Thranduil's warriors were ready and awaiting their king's orders. When he approached, the riders split apart to create a path for Thranduil to pass. Perched on his giant white stag, in his shining armor and silver circlet delicately weaving its way around the king's head, he was the epitome of royalty. The warriors bowed their heads in respect as King Thranduil made his way up to the front of the lines and led the army to aid the patrols valiantly fighting for the northern kingdom. They moved quickly, for a patrol station was not bound to be able to hold back an assault of hundreds of orcs for very long.

Celegon was the first to spot the glorious stag. The orcs have come close enough that the battle was now being raged on the ground. Unfortunately, the enemy was on the upper hand; no matter how many of these creatures the elves cut down, two more seemed to appear out of nowhere. They kept coming in great tides like a wave pushes sand. The elves, on the other hand, were dwindling. And so hope flared within Celegon as he saw Thranduil's army approach.

"The King has come!" he shouted. And the warriors gained a new light in their eyes simply from the knowledge that their king had come to fight alongside them.

Thranduil looked onto the battlefield with oozing contempt. He would not have these orcs contaminate his homeland any more than they already have.

"Cleanse this forest of those foul beasts! If it's a battle they want, then we shall give it to them!" With that, Thranduil charged forth on his great white stag with a whole army at his back. Suddenly out of nowhere, orcs riding wargs jumped over the front lines and lunged at the cavalry, causing the elven riders to scatter. Thranduil managed to narrowly avoid having his stag's throat ripped apart by one of the monsters as he expertly steered his mount through the battlefield. The shrill screams of horses exploded here and there as the animals of the less fortunate riders were eaten alive.

The battle seemed to go on endlessly. Thranduil's army was evening the odds though, for the elves could see more kin and less orc now. "Forth! The orcs are lessening!" someone encouraged. The elves battled the orcs with renewed vigor, welcoming the thought of finishing this once and for all and returning safely home. However, all that shattered when someone let known some very bad news.

"Spiders!" an elf shouted.

Thranduil's eyes widened. The orcs have brought reinforcements! His skin crawled as he spotted the spawn of Ungoliath scurrying along the treetops and on the ground. "Shoot them down! Shoot them down!" he quickly ordered. He sheathed his sword and pulled out his own great long bow, elegantly curved at the ends. He hated these spiders as much as the orcs because they too were responsible for spoiling the once great Greenwood. When the first of the spiders eventually reached the elves, the archers once again abandoned their bows and picked up their swords. The elves fought bravely, but the addition of spiders was unexpected and they were starting to falter once again.

Thranduil was combating a large orc when he felt a shiver go up his spine. He kicked the orc away and spun around just in time to cut off the stinger of a spider before it could plunge it into his neck. The spider shrieked in pain and fury and scuttled away to caress its wound. It was a little too close for comfort. Thranduil continued to spin and stuck his sword into the belly of the orc he had kicked to the ground. He panted hard; there seemed to be no end to the numbers. Several warriors witnessed the king's narrow escape and fought their way over to protect him.

Just when things didn't seem to become any worse, a horrible screech pierced the air, stretching out endlessly and hurting the elves' ears. Several dropped to the ground, writhing and begging for it to stop. Thranduil dropped his sword and pressed his hands to his ears so hard that it was hard to tell if his head was throbbing from the pressure or the sound. He had never heard a sound so terrifying and couldn't believe that a creature capable of making it existed on Arda. After what seemed like an eternity, the sound reached an impossibly high pitch and finally ended. The damage was done, however, as the elves were left temporarily dazed and immobilized, allowing the orcs and spiders to kill many of them ruthlessly. A dark shadow enveloped the battlefield, blocking out the moon, its wings beating laboriously and making several elves cower in fear. It was the owner of the terrible scream.

"Ai Elbereth, a Nazgul!" Laegon exclaimed. "A Nazgul on wings!" The elves had never seen a Nazgul before. They had heard stories, yes, but just the stories.

Some attempted to shoot down the great bird-like creature, but they hadn't yet completely recovered from the sound and their hands were quivering from fear. The arrows all missed the beast, and the Nazgul laughed; a harsh rasping sound that sent goosebumps up the elves' arms. Then it suddenly swooped down and with its massive claw-like talons, snatched up an elf and dropped him mercilessly on the spot. The orcs cheered and attacked more fervently, for now the Nazgul had joined the fight.

And Thranduil was losing.

Perhaps it was because they sensed that he was the leader, but the orcs seemed to focus on him. They had already killed the warriors that had bravely tried to protect their king, leaving Thranduil severely outnumbered. Whenever he beheaded one orc, he would spin around to find another one jumping at him. Fueled by desperation, the king killed orc after orc, spider after spider. The bodies of both friend and foe littered the grounds. One huge uruk-hai stepped in front of Thranduil and licked his vicious sword, deeply stained in elf blood, like a child would enjoy something sweet, but in a much more threatening and provocative way. Thranduil didn't flinch, but merely hardened his gaze and tightened his grip on his sword.

From afar, Celegon saw Thranduil being surrounded by the enemy. He had no time to alert anybody else as he saw the giant uruk lick his sword. He dropped his jaw in horror and ran to aid his king.

The uruk smiled as he saw an elf flying towards him. He gave a battle cry and lunged at the tall elf in front of him. Celegon cursed himself for being arrowless and ran as fast as his legs would allow. He was almost there!

As the orc growled and jumped at him, Thranduil adjusted his grip and prepared to end its miserable life. At the corner of his eye, he saw a warrior running to help him. But just as Thranduil swung his sword, the foul uruk grabbed Celegon by the neck and roughly pulled him close. The elf king wasn't expecting this move and couldn't stop himself in time, impaling the warrior along with the orc. Celegon didn't even have the time or the strength to gasp as his lips parted a little and his eyes slithered shut. The last thing he saw was the orc grinning wide despite blood trickling down its lips. His body fell with the orc as Thranduil lost his grip on the sword. The king stood there stunned, his sword in the elf's back, shocked that he had just injured and possibly killed his own kin. The moment was all the orcs needed. Immediately, one of the orcs came up from behind and hit Thranduil's legs hard with a thick black bow, causing him to drop down to his knees. Thranduil could barely react because another one came up front and drew a swift blow to his head with all the hate it possessed for the race, not strong enough to kill but enough to guarantee a massive headache later on. As the king crumpled to the floor, a vicious looking uruk-hai stepped forward, twisted its gnarled claws painfully into Thranduil's hair, and lifted his head up to make eye contact. It was Tarburz the cruel. He was so close that the elf could smell his hot breath. Thranduil tightened his lips at the smell.

"Little elf," he growled, "Do you know how many men I've lost trying to get you?"

Thranduil's head was pounding hard, and he was very dizzy and nauseous as well. He was fighting hard to not give in to the sleep that was threatening to envelop him, and the pain the orc was adding was not helping. But pain was one thing, defiance was another. With all the strength he could muster, Thranduil looked, albeit with heavy eyelids, straight into Tarburz's beady eyes and slowly but surely said, "Not enough."

Tarburz growled and threw the hostage down. The impact was too much and the elven king succumbed to the sleep. The elven army looked on in shock as the orc tossed their king like a rag doll. With a cry, they charged to save him, but were stopped when the Nazgul shrieked and landed between them and their king. He dismounted and slowly walked over to the unconscious elf, kicking aside Celegon's body as he went, and grabbed the back of Thranduil's neck.

"Surrender or your king dies," he said. As if to make a point, he tightened his hold. The elves didn't dare take his threat lightly and slowly put down their weapons.

"Go and take the kingdom," the Nazgul told the orcs. "Kill the injured and burn the bodies."

The elves despaired as the orcs roared in approval and started beating the prisoners to submission.

Mirkwood had fallen.


	3. Chapter 2

**I'm sorry this update was kind of late. I took a whole week and more plotting out the whole story. I had a vague idea of how I was going to complete this, but now I have a complete outline (haha!) I might go through some changes, but I think I'm going to stick with the plan for most of it.**

**I was actually in a dilemma for a whole day whether to keep Celegon alive or not. He's the reason I started organizing my plans for this story so…thanks Celegon!**

**Plus I got some of my descriptions (actually a lot) of characters or places from the movies. I mean, it's so much easier to picture it that way isn't it?**

**Enjoy this chapter like I enjoy your reviews.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 2<strong>_

_"__They (the wood elves) differed from the High Elves of the West, and were more dangerous and less wise."_

_- The Hobbit_

Haldir rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. He was relieved yet irritated at the same time. It was the morning of a new day, and the Galadhrim had just warded off another assault from Dol Guldur. The orc army had been slightly larger than the first attack, but the forest was still recovering from the previous one from four nights ago. The elves had barely had three days to reorganize their glorious golden city when the patrols reported the first orc sightings. Still, Caras Galadhon was victorious once more thanks to the Lady of the Golden Woods. When he arrived at her chambers to report, Haldir's brows angled slightly in concern when he saw the Lady Galadriel sitting on her bed with Lord Celeborn next to her tenderly holding her hands. Galadriel looked up with naught but a shadow of fatigue on her fair face and smiled at her marchwarden, warmth seeming to radiate from her like sunshine.

Galadriel spoke before Haldir had even opened his mouth. "Elrond has sent back an answer…" she stated. Haldir simply nodded and was about to say more when Galadriel continued. "…but Thranduil has not." Her eyes flickered with complicated emotions that disappeared as quickly as they had come. Sometimes, Haldir wondered if his job was even needed.

"Yes, my Lady. The messenger I sent to Rivendell has come back, but the one that has gone to northern Mirkwood has not. I would reckon that he has merely been delayed, but he is not one to tarry on such an important mission. I worry for the cause of his tardiness." His eyes darkened for a moment, and he bowed. "I come to ask the Lady for her wisdom."

Galadriel got up from her bed and slowly walked over to her window. She looked out, but seemed to see beyond the great city, focused on something Haldir could only guess.

"A shadow has befallen Mirkwood. It prevents my sight from reaching Thranduil. I do not know what ill fate has befallen our northern kin," she admitted. Celeborn did not seem surprised by this news. He had just heard this ominous news before Haldir had come. Haldir, on the other hand, was shocked by this revelation.

"King Thranduil has…but Mirkwood is…" he stuttered. It was not often the blond elf was at a loss for words, but he had never really imagined Thranduil's palace to fall. No. Galadriel did not say that he had fallen. She merely said that she was uncertain. After the brief confusion, Haldir collected his emotions and looked up at the Lord and the Lady.

"Lady Galadriel, if you would allow it, I would like to personally go to King Thranduil's realm and relay your message." He wanted to see for himself what had become of the great kingdom, and also to collect his messenger…if he ever found him. Galadriel nodded gracefully and Haldir bowed in gratitude. After he left, Celeborn confronted his wife. He cupped her hands in his once again and gently stroked them.

"I have known you for thousands of years," he started, "tell me what it is you see." He tucked a golden lock of her hair behind her elegantly pointed ear and traced it down to stroke her cheek.

Galadriel smiled sadly at her love. "Sometimes I believe that you have the gift of sight as well; I could never fool you." She sighed softly. "I do not lie; I cannot see what is happening in Thranduil's palace. But after yesterday's battle, I looked into the mirror, and saw an evil darker than orcs. Then I felt his pain, his sorrow, his despair…" She gasped quietly, like someone who's been crying. "I cannot tell if that is the past, present, or the future, because the shadow is interfering with my sight. This uncertainty…frightens me. I am frightened for Thranduil." She ended in a whisper and Celeborn held his wife close. To others, she may be the wise elf, the Lady of the Golden Woods, but to him, she was Galadriel, his love. He held her face in his hands and looked deep into her beautiful blue orbs. "It is fine to be frightened, my love. Trust Haldir. Trust Thranduil. They are strong." Galadriel hugged her husband back, not completely reassured but slightly healed in her heart.

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><p>"Rumil, Orophin," Haldir called. He found his two brothers on top of their usual flet, gazing out east and conversing silently. They turned simultaneously at the sound of his voice.<p>

"Ai, so you are still alive Brother! I thought you dead when you didn't show up after the battle," exclaimed Rumil. Orophin was biting his lower lip in a strange grimace, trying not to laugh at the remark.

Haldir chuckled softly. "Do not kill me yet Rumil. I intend to sail to Valinor, not flee to the halls of Mandos." The brothers had a good laugh until their eldest brother took a more serious note. "Actually, I come to ask you for your assistance. The Lady Galadriel has just informed me of some ill omens concerning King Thranduil of Mirkwood.

"Did something happen?" asked Orophin.

"I am not exactly sure. That is why I intend to go and find out. I wanted to ask Rumil to accompany me, and Orophin to take charge in my stead if you two wish it," said Haldir.

"Of course, Brother. Will we be hunting orcs?" asked a rather excited Rumil. Although he wasn't as adventurous as Haldir, he was always the energetic one of the three, and enjoyed hunting their most hated enemies.

"Where we're going, we should hope not to find any," replied Haldir. "We will move like shadows: quickly and quietly. But keep your arrows plenty for that forest is full of unknown evils. I hope you're ready Rumil, because we go now." Then he went up to Orophin and clasped his shoulder in a brotherly manner. His brother did the same.

"Be safe," said Orophin. And Haldir and Rumil slid down the flet as soundlessly as cats on their light shoes and whisked off north.

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><p>It was a beautiful forest. Beautiful beyond words. The grass was green, the trees were tall, and the birds and critters were free and happy. There was an especially large beech tree in the middle of the woods; tall and majestic. It has probably seen thousands of seasons, each winter bringing new surprises, and each spring new promises. He stepped toward it and placed his hand on the trunk, stroking it almost lovingly and admiring its grand beauty. He didn't know where he was, but he didn't care because for some reason it all made sense that he was here in this very spot. He sat and leaned against the tree, but recoiled because it was strangely shaking. When he leaned in closer, he wrinkled his nose in disgust because he could smell something rotting. Suddenly, the grass around him turned as black as charcoal, and when he looked up at the tree in panic, he saw the leaves withering and the bark rotting. Faraway, there was a rushing noise and he tore his eyes away from the dying tree to see a black wave charging towards him. There was nowhere to run and all he could do was lean against the tree, clinging to it for dear life. The wave hit like a dwarf hits a hammer and his whole body hurt. The murky water flooded the whole forest and he couldn't breathe! The harder he tried to hold his breath, the more water seemed to infiltrate his lungs. Then, he simply gave up trying altogether and opened his mouth in a feeble attempt to gulp in nonexistent air.<p>

Thranduil woke up coughing and retching. He tried to bend over, but found that he couldn't because his head was being held back by something large and heavy. So he turned his head and spit out something black and thick which left a bitter taste on his tongue. He heaved again because of the foul taste. He kept coughing and couldn't help it because it felt like something was slithering inside his stomach. It was not a pleasant sensation, and he felt as if he would be sick again. After taking a few deep breaths, he managed to get his senses back together and he could hear the disturbing laughter of an orc right next to his ear. His heart skipped a beat and he slightly panicked for a moment before remembering the battle with the orcs and the Nazgul. He noticed that he was sitting on the ground, leaning against the chest of an orc that had one arm around his torso and one hand on his forehead, tilting it back. His arms were tied behind his back, digging painfully into the orc's armor. His own armor had been taken off at some point, leaving him in only his silver-grey tunic and black leggings. Disgusted by the proximity and the lingering taste in his mouth, the king grimaced and cracked his eyes open to find the Uruk, Tarburz, leering at him. He was holding a drinking pouch that was dripping some kind of black liquid.

"Did we have a nice sleep now, little elfling?" Tarburz asked. Then without warning, he hauled Thranduil up by the collar of his tunic, not caring if the elf did not have the strength to stand, and practically dragged him across the clearing. Thranduil's eyes darted here and there and saw that they were in front of his palace doors. The familiar gates looked so welcoming, but the orcs scattered around it brought back the reality of defeat. He couldn't see any of his subjects, and that made his heart beat faster. What if they killed them all? If they did, why didn't they kill him? Before he could observe anymore, Tarburz threw him down like he was some kind of luggage. The king attempted to catch himself, but because of his restrained hands, fell face first onto the grass. The surrounding orcs pointed and jeered. They were clearly enjoying watching their captain toss the elf king around like a plaything. Thranduil grit his teeth and tried to get up, despite his shaking limbs. Elbereth, what have the orcs given him? He felt stronger than he should be, but it felt dark and fake.

"You filthy _yrch!_ How dare you treat our king in such a manner!" somebody cried. "May you burn to ashes in the deepest crevices of Mordor!"

Thranduil turned his head in the direction of the voice and found several elves being restrained. He almost sighed in relief that not all of his subjects were slaughtered, but immediately worried for the one that had just threatened Tarburz. It was his most trusted captain, Laegon. Laegon had seen the orcs forcing their horrible draught into Thranduil's throat, and the captain was not about to let them abuse his king anymore. Tarburz emitted a guttural sound that was almost close to a laugh.

"To die in Mordor, that would be an honor. Let me do yours," he growled, and stomped toward the captain with his sword drawn. Before Thranduil could try anything to stop him, a dark shadow flew down and intercepted Tarburz. The Uruk-hai cowered in fear before it. It was his master.

"Stop. There is no time for your sport," it hissed. Its voice was deep and raspy, and it seemed to slither uncomfortably around the elves ears. The Uruk-hai immediately stepped down, but not before baring its teeth at Laegon. Laegon glared back, but couldn't do more due to the Nazgul's intimidating presence.

The black servant seemed to glide towards where Thranduil was on one knee. The elf king stood and tried to calm his shaking limbs with little success. He started to feel cold from the inside as the Nazgul came closer and closer, and wasn't sure if it was from its presence or the potion.

"Mirkwood elfling. Your doors are sealed with magic," it accused.

And sealed it was. Thranduil had placed it himself when he had come back from the Battle of Dagorlad ages ago. It was to protect what was left of his people then. The corner of his lip lifted in a crooked smile as he imagined the frustration this wraith and its slaves must have experienced in trying to forcefully open the gates. Only he alone had control over the magic. Unfortunately, he knew it was not enough to hold these beasts at bay.

"How inconvenient," he replied.

"Indeed. Open the gates." The wraith drawled lazily, but Thranduil could read the threat underneath. There were many more innocent elves inside the walls, and he didn't want to endanger them as well. But he also didn't want to lose all his surviving warriors who had bravely followed him to battle, and he was sure the orcs and their master would not hesitate to kill them off one by one should he resist. They were all equally important to him, and his heart was in an emotional turmoil as he desperately searched for a way to save them all.

Before he could think of a witty answer, however, the Nazgul stretched out its hand toward a nearby orc as if to receive something. The orc smiled, revealing its uneven sharp fangs, and trudged toward where the elves were kept prisoner. He seemed to scan over them briefly before reaching out and grabbing the elf of his choice. Some of them immediately lashed out with their legs and struggled against the orcs holding them down in a vain attempt to save their comrade. The chosen elf's eyes widened with fear as he was dragged towards Sauron's servant. The orc shoved his prisoner down before the master and held him in place.

"Lift the sorcery or watch your subjects die one by one. Slowly. Painfully," threatened the Nazgul. The king's face seemed to be devoid of emotion as he fixed his steely gaze into the obscured shadow where he assumed the Nazgul's eyes would be. He knew he could not choose one elf's life over thousands, but he could not risk this one's life for thousands too. He almost growled in frustration at the dilemma.

"Perhaps you need proper motivation…" and the Nazgul drew its blade slowly, making an ominous scraping sound. Although, he looked stoic, Thranduil's mind was racing. Was the sacrifice of this warrior inevitable?

_"__Hir nin!"_ Somebody called. It was the captive warrior. "Do not give in to these monsters. I do not fear death. _Elbereth Gilthoniel!"_ he shouted in Elvish. Upon hearing one of the Valar's names, the Nazgul shrieked in fear and fury and plunged its blade into the elf's heart, stealing his light forever. It stabbed the body a few more times in its rage and threw him to the orcs, where several cheered and dragged him off to who knows where. The remaining elves cried out in anguish, a miserable sound that nobody should have to make. Thranduil was also taken by surprise by the sudden outburst, and had averted his gaze. He looked back at the wraith with widened eyes painted with absolute contempt.

It straightened up with a deceptively calm demeanor and whispered, "I will have my army penetrate your doors eventually. When they do, I will break every last one of your precious elves!" It paused for a moment, seeming to mull over something, then said, "But the Dark Lord is lenient. If you remove your magic now, I will show mercy to those inside."

Something seemed to change in Thranduil then. He couldn't trust the enemy, but it was a sliver of hope against sure extermination. If he didn't open the door himself, the orcs would break through eventually and he would be sending all his subjects to death. However, if he did allow the orcs passage into his halls, he would be saving his subjects' lives, but at the same time condemning all of them to imprisonment and possible torture. He thought about the murdered elf; he thought about the surviving warriors; he thought about the innocent lives. 'Oh Valar,' he thought, 'what would you have me do..?'

There was silence in the forest until the elf king slightly bowed his head in defeat, and the Nazgul knew it had won.

"I will lift the spell…" he whispered almost inaudibly. He kept his head down, his tall stance slouching considerably, devoid of its usual confident, charismatic aura. As they witnessed their king surrender to the enemy, Laegon and the other elves bowed their heads as well

Mirkwood was now completely sieged.

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><p>There were murmurs all around. Harsh, guttural voices that weren't very pleasant to listen to. The voices disappeared. Then there was the smell, the smell of burning meat, ash, and fire. It was warm at first, but then it started to get uncomfortably hot. Then it started to get painful.<p>

Celegon forced his eyes open as the air around him became stiflingly hot. He coughed weakly due to the smoke and his harsh injuries. He was sprawled on top of some kind of rank mound that was burning quickly. When he saw the fire, he didn't think twice about rolling off of the pile and away from the threat. He winced as his battered body landed painfully on the ground. He kept rolling on instinct, though, because he hadn't been able to register the situation completely. When the warrior felt he couldn't move anymore, he lay there with his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the pain to subside.

'I must somehow be alive, because death cannot be this painful,' he mused.

He tenderly reached over to the spot below his right breast where Thranduil's blade had cut through. It was still slowly oozing blood, the dirt from the ground not helping at all. The orc had not exactly aimed his body well, so the sword had miraculously missed his heart and his spine. It had still done considerable internal damage though; the elf could feel that several of his organs were ripped and tattered, and that he was dying. If he had had a proper healer nearby, he might have a chance, but he was left in the middle of the forest in no condition to move.

Still lying on his back, Celegon turned his head over to where he had started. He could now see that the burning mound was a pile of orc carcasses and elf bodies. The mindless beasts had carelessly thrown every dead body they could find and set it to fire as they had been ordered to. Luckily for Celegon, they had not lingered behind to watch it burn. He stared numbly at the burning tomb. Elves did not take care of the dead as such, and they especially did not mix the bodies of their own kin with those of orcs. He sobbed as he realized what this meant: they had lost.

For a while, Celegon lay there silently weeping as the truth came crashing down on him. Then his thoughts wandered to Talia. Talia! Was she alive? Did she think he was dead? He was frightened to think that if she was not dead already, she may give up her soul in grief. For the sake of her, Celegon knew that he must act. He couldn't risk going back to the kingdom, and he would need all the help he could get. He wasn't completely trustworthy of the men of Dale, and especially not the dwarves of Erebor. He would have to get the aid of the elves of Lothlorien or Rivendell. He thought of his broken body and decided Lord Elrond was the better choice. He took a deep breath and struggled to stand. He barely made it on his hands and feet before he collapsed by the unexpected searing pain on his left wrist. He didn't know how, but it seemed to be broken, possibly from being haphazardly thrown onto the pile of bodies. He tried a second time, being extra careful not to put any pressure on his broken wrist. It was excruciating, but he was able to stand without being supported by a tree. Celegon took a few tentative steps and started off slowly west to Rivendell.

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><p><strong>Do you remember the poor messenger that got taken to Dol Guldur? Yeah…R.I.P Mirkwood messenger… :(<strong>

**The concepts of elves using magic may seem a little foreign to some people, but it's written in 'The Hobbit'. They do use magic!**

**Also, what do you think of the speed of the story? Is it too slow? Too fast? Some parts I think I'm going too fast, but I thought this chapter was pretty slow. I planned for about three days to go by in this chapter, but the whole thing happened in like a day and half! I might add a timeline later on when the events start to become jumbled up. Let me know if it starts to become confusing, and comments on the speed will also be appreciated :) Hope you enjoyed.**


	4. Chapter 3

**The most amazing yet hardest part of writing in English is trying to find a decent synonym. I want be able to write more colorful words grr!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

_"__Such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere."_

_- Elrond in 'The Fellowship of the Ring'_

The strangest thing the orcs noticed when they stormed into the palace gates was that it was vacant. There was no one left in the vast halls of Thranduil. It was almost as if the place was abandoned. Several orcs looked above and around in case of an ambush. When it seemed that the place was indeed devoid of elves, the orcs proceeded to weave through the intricate halls, filling the beautiful place with their unpleasant presence.

"WHERE ARE THEY!" Tarburz bellowed. He had expected to kill some elf right in front of the obnoxious elf king, because the king himself was not to be touched. Perhaps it was due to some kind of innate sense of defiance, but the Nazgul's orders made the Uruk captain want to hurt the elf more. Of course, his master had only ordered for the elf to not be killed. He didn't say anything about hurting the filth… And so Tarburz stomped over with little grace to where another orc was holding a very confused, but outwardly indifferent Thranduil.

"Where. Are. They," he asked once more. He was disturbingly close to the elf's face, and Thranduil found himself wishing he would stop finding himself in such situations. He narrowed his eyes at the beast, his mouth slightly ajar as if pondering what to have for dinner.

"I do not know. Perhaps they smelt your rancid hides from leagues away and took refuge. Wise my people are, don't you think?" he answered, making sure to drive in the taunt. In truth, he had been a little worried to see nobody in the palace because he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign. But when he saw the orcs as confused as he was, he knew that the remaining elves had fled or hidden somewhere relatively safe. How and to where, he did not know, but he thought it was safer if he didn't.

Tarburz was not the brightest bulb in the box, but he read the tone beneath Thranduil's answer, and he didn't like it. "Well then, they are the dogs that I knew them to be," he spat. Then he lifted one massive hand and struck the elf king hard across the side of his head. Thranduil had seen the hand coming, but he couldn't do anything with the orc holding him in place. His head whipped to the side, long hair flailing in the air, and the orcs who witnessed the scene shook the halls with their guffaw. Something clanked on the floor, and Thranduil was somewhat amazed to see that it was his circlet; it had survived the tussle. Tarburz picked it up and turned it this way and that.

"What a beauty, shiny thing like this. Maybe I'll keep it," he purred. He glanced over expecting to see the elf squirming anxiously, but found that he had not moved at all. Instead, Thranduil was glaring at Tarburz out of the corner of his eye with a new fire kindled in it. The king was angry. It almost unnerved the Uruk to see such intimidating eyes, but he bared his teeth at Thranduil as if to reinforce the fact that he was in charge around here. There were shouts of complaints from the other prisoners, especially Laegon, but Tarburz ignored them all. He impatiently waved a hand to take them out of his sight.

"Is the little elf upset that his shiny trinket got taken?" Tarburz taunted while his prisoner straightened himself up. Then the Uruk captain carefully placed the circlet on Thranduil's head in a mockingly delicate manner. Still glaring daggers at the orc, Thranduil stiffened at the unexpected motion, but didn't move otherwise. When Tarburz finished, he stepped back to enjoy the picture, gaining a few sniggles here and there. Then all of a sudden, he struck Thranduil again on the same spot, once again sending the circlet flying across the room and eliciting a tiny gasp from the king. The cruel captain burst out roaring with laughter, causing the others to join him.

"I take what I want Elfing. You will learn to keep your filthy eyes to yourself while you're prisoner to Tarburz. Take him to the deepest, darkest cell they have in this hole!" he barked.

Two orcs grabbed Thranduil's arms, and the elf king put up a struggle against their merciless grips. He kicked an incoming orc hard in the stomach, but barely had a chance to feel satisfaction because somebody else kicked his knees, sending him off balance. They were about to drag him away like that when a noise from the entrance distracted them all. All heads turned to look as several orcs charged through the gates with something smaller in tow.

It was an elf.

"Tirnel!" Laegon cried. The captain had not seen Tirnel among the prisoners and feared that he was dead. He was more than relieved to see that one more of his warriors had survived. Thranduil noticed that it was the messenger that had warned him of the attack.

The orcs brought Tirnel before Tarburz. "Caught this one sneaking near the river." One cuffed the elf on the back of the head in emphasis. The messenger elf had obviously been a little roughed up: he had a bloody nose, bruised eye, and multiple cuts covering his face and arms. But he was smiling. It was small, but it was there, Thranduil noticed.

"Trying to sneak off are we? Lock him away with the others. No wait." Tarburz scrutinized Tirnel before saying, "Give the maggot a little taste of what happens to those who run." The soldiers holding Tirnel grinned evilly and proceeded to carry him off towards the other prisoners. But before they could take him out of Thranduil's sight completely, the brown haired elf inclined his head slightly toward his king and whispered in Elvish,

"They are safe."

Thranduil's eyes widened in understanding. This elf had saved his people!

"What is it saying? Be quiet!" a guard complained, and shoved him towards where Laegon was anxiously waiting.

"Can you walk?" the captain asked his subordinate.

Tirnel nodded and gave the respected captain a small smile. Tirnel was the youngest elf in Laegon's squad, so Laegon felt inclined to treat him as a nephew. He had so many questions for the young one, but didn't feel safe enough to ask with all these orcs encompassing them. Tirnel seemed to sense the curiosity radiating from the other elves and softly hushed, "Later."

The elves were paraded into the numerous cells in Thranduil's halls. The orcs were careful not to put too many in one cell for fear of becoming overpowered, so they put no more than two elves per cell. The elf king was taken to the deepest, most isolated cell away from his subjects so as to keep each other in the dark about how the other was faring. Even though he was inside his own palace, the place seemed very foreign. Thranduil had always thought his dungeons were dark yet hospitable enough; now, they seemed to him to be more like a troll cave than an elf palace. He was rather irked that the monsters had brought so much darkness into his home.

As he was pushed unceremoniously behind the barred doors of one of the cells, his mind spontaneously thought back to the time when he held Thorin Oakenshield's company prisoner.

'Oh the irony,' he thought. 'At least they're orcs and not dwarves.'

His hands had not been unbound, so Thranduil uncomfortably made his way to the bed in the corner, all the while rubbing his wrists in a halfhearted attempt to undo the bonds. The air felt a little chilly, but luckily it was not moist. He leaned back against the cold rock wall and started scraping the ropes against the rocks. For the first time since the battle, he was able to collect his thoughts in peace. He thought about why they kept him and his people alive. He knew that Sauron had been looking to Mirkwood for a while due to its strategic spot, but keeping them alive was technically unnecessary. Maybe it is purely for sport? He shivered as his thoughts drifted to stories about what orcs did to elven prisoners. He thought about Legolas, and hoped that his son was safer than he was in his own home. He was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts by a commotion outside the cell. He gazed out the barred doors to see orcs running around jabbering excitedly with handfuls of gold and silver and many white gems. They were plundering his treasure hoard! The king's anger flared once more, but he was utterly helpless to stop the burglary. He was forced to look on as their grubby hands molested his precious jewels. Now he was weaker in strength, wisdom, AND riches than the other elven lords. Several orcs banged the doors of the cells as they passed by, but Thranduil did not flinch. He may be prisoner, but he was not going to give them the satisfaction of watching him despair. He was the son of Oropher! He will fight until his last breath. As he simmered in frustration at this rather cumbersome situation, he felt several fibers in his rope loosen. He inwardly smiled and continued to rub the ropes against the rougher rocks.

* * *

><p>Talia was fading. Or at least she felt like it. She was awkwardly slumped against the wall, not caring if grime and dirt were making their way into her hair and clothes. She was alone, which she appreciated, for she did not feel like part of this world anymore. She saw everything. She saw how Celegon flew towards the king, how he got impaled by that very king's sword, how he got thrown onto the pile of corpses like some sort of garbage. She was constantly haunted by the images that were imprinted onto her eyeballs. She had not shed a tear though, and also had not said a word since they'd been taken prisoner, but had simply been going with the flow, making no resistance as she was thrown into her cell. In truth, she wouldn't have minded if the orcs had killed her. She took another shuddering breath as she watched Celegon's body fall with the orc.<p>

She loved him.

Talia never admitted it to anyone, but she loved Celegon dearly. She enjoyed the days when they would patrol the woods together, and the simpler days when they would hunt deer. She loved fighting side by side with her _mellon_ and treating each other's injuries. She missed their little adventures in the trees, tweeting to each other to signal their location. Talia couldn't help but smile a little at the memory. The more she thought about Celegon, the more she became distraught. Celegon wouldn't want her to fade for his sake, but she could not imagine a world without him! She was torn between the will to live and the urge to fade. The cruel part of this was that she wanted him to comfort her as he always did. But he will never do so again. A tear made its way out of her eye and caressed her cheek. Her breathing hitched as the weight of her loss came crashing down on her. And so the female archer sat huddled up in the corner, sobbing quietly for what used to be.

She was so immersed in her grief that she almost didn't hear the approaching footsteps. It wasn't until she heard the grunts of the orcs and the door opening that she jumped up and became instantly alert. She had no weapons, but she had her hands, which were equally deadly. She was about to put up quite a fight when the guards threw something inside and immediately shut the door. She didn't dare glance down until the orcs treaded off laughing about something. When she finally spared a look at the thing on the floor, she noticed that it was not a thing, but a body! It was Tirnel! Panicking, she quickly crouched down and turned him over. She had not expected him to yell out when she moved him, and when he did, she almost dropped him in surprise.

"Tirnel. _Mellon-nin_, what happened?" she asked urgently.

Tirnel was sweating profusely, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. He was writhing in Talia's arms, weakly pushing her away from him as if trying to escape.

"It hurts…" Tirnel complained weakly.

"Where does it hurt? Let me help you." Talia felt guilty. Everybody was in pain, but she was too focused on her own to notice anybody else's.

"Everywhere…" he breathed, "spider venom…"

Spider venom! Talia did not have any herbs or water at the moment, and spider venom was potentially lethal. The only thing she could do right now was to sit by Tirnel and wait the pain out; hopefully, he wasn't dosed with a deadly amount. She wiped some sweat off of his forehead and looked down sadly.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

"Do not be…" he mouthed in his semiconscious state, but the words never left his mouth for Tirnel passed out right then.

* * *

><p>On the southern side of Middle Earth, Gondor had just achieved a victory against the forces of Mordor. The Witch King of Angmar was dead, slain by Eowyn; Aragorn was busy in the houses of healing; and Legolas and Gimli were strolling around Minas Tirith after having visited Merry.<p>

"Final count is 54," said Legolas.

"The last one I weakened and was about to deliver the final blow when you shot your arrow at it. That doesn't count!" retorted Gimli.

"As I recall, you stumbled and were about to have your head cut off. I believe I saved your life."

"That was purely on purpose. I was tricking the orc to think that I had lost my balance."

"Ah, I had not thought of such an intricate plan. You are wise indeed master dwarf." Legolas bowed low before Gimli, but quickly jumped back before Gimli could smack his head. Laughing merrily, he ran away with his friend hot on his tail cursing and threatening to shave off all his golden hair and make a decent beard out of it.

Legolas was so focused on avoiding Gimli that he almost bumped into Gandalf. He stopped himself in time and turned gracefully, grinning widely.

"Gandalf! I am glad to see you are unharmed," Legolas greeted. Gimli caught up with the two and greeted the wizard as well, but not before glaring at Legolas out of the corner of his eye. The wizard chuckled heartily.

"I see you two are still up to your betting games. Elves and dwarves may be more curious creatures than hobbits," he jested.

"Then there would be no creature on this land that does not spark your curiosity," said Legolas. "How does the lady Eowyn fare?"

"She is doing well. Aragorn is caring for her, but it will be a few days before she awakens. Why don't we talk in the dining hall? I haven't had a decent meal since we were in Rohan," suggested Gandalf.

Gimli perked up at the sound of dinner. "Wonderful idea! I shall go and secure our plates. I will race you to the halls Legolas!" and he sprinted off in the direction of the dining hall. Legolas was about to follow after, but Gandalf put a hand on his shoulder. "Legolas, we must talk. Alone, if you would allow it." Legolas looked curiously at Gandalf.

"What is it?" he asked.

Gandalf seemed to struggle to find the right words. "The shadow has lifted from Minas Tirith, but I sense another," he finally said. Legolas calmly waited for the old wizard to continue. "I couldn't tell before because the shadow here was too great, but now that the distraction is gone, I sense it clearly. It is north. North in the forest of Mirkwood."

Legolas shifted uncomfortably. "Is it not Dol Guldur? The fortress is forever veiled in evil."

"No. No, it is not confined only within Dol Guldur. It has moved and spread its wings across the forest."

"What would you have me do?" the elf asked.

"I do not tell you to do anything. In fact, I do not even know what exactly is happening in that forest. I am simply informing you because I believed that you had a right to know and to make your own choices. You have come a long way, son of Thranduil, but your responsibility to The Fellowship was over long ago. Remember that you are free to come and go as you wish." With this advice, Gandalf smiled warmly at Legolas and hobbled off to where Gimli was last seen.

Legolas was left to his own confused thoughts. Mithrandir had given him a choice: to go back home or stay and fight with Gondor. He didn't know what exactly had happened to his homeland, but a shadow would not bode well. But he also swore himself to Aragorn and Frodo. Even if he was not bound to The Fellowship, he had followed them to Mount Caradhras, through the mines of Moria, and even to the paths of the dead on his own free will. He could not abandon them now. At a loss, he decided to eat first and mull over it later.

He found Gimli alone in the dining hall. Well, not exactly alone. He was surrounded by men who were sharing ale and telling stories. Gimli was obviously the center of attention as he was the one doing the telling with the men listening intently.

"And then I swung my axe and cleaved the beast in two…ah! There he is, the elf!" Gimli called out. One of the men swung around to greet Legolas.

"Master Gimli has been telling us the story of how he saved you from that giant orc. It must have been a terrifying experience!" he said. Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Terrifying indeed."

Gimli roared with laughter and the men cheered and all drank from their cups. Legolas smiled and silently left them to their fun. He went off to find Aragorn in the houses of healing.

He found the ranger on one of the balconies of the houses. When Legolas stepped behind him loud enough for the man to acknowledge his presence, Aragorn seemed a little surprised.

"Legolas! Do not sneak up on me like that."

"Sneak? A hoard of mumakil couldn't have woken you from your dreams," the elf laughed.

Aragorn seemed to turn a slight shade of red, but the ranger chuckled and asked, "Why do you not feast? Tonight is a good night."

"The same reason you do not. Many things trouble you, Heir of Gondor."

At this he turned silent and looked back at the night sky. "You are right. I was just thinking of King Theoden…" Aragorn murmured. "He was a brave man. He died nobly." Legolas nodded. "Many brave men have died tonight," he commented, and for a moment, the two friends remained silent in respect for the dead.

"People come and go," the man continued, "whether living or dead. It is not in my power to prevent them. Every man is entitled to his own cause and destiny. Even an elf."

Legolas looked up at Aragorn; a little confused by the way he was talking. Aragorn walked closer to his friend and looked straight into his blue eyes.

"You should go _mellon-nin_. Do not stay here for my sake."

The elf was shocked. How could he have possibly known? "How did you know?" he asked.

"Gandalf told me before he told you. He seemed to know that you would come to me, so I reckon he gave me time to think as well. But Legolas, my friend," Aragorn put both hands on Legolas's shoulders, "there is nothing to think about. Even had I not known beforehand, I would have let you go. Go and fight for your home; I will stay here and fight for mine."

Legolas almost bowed in respect for the future king of Gondor. He sufficed by squeezing Aragorn's shoulder back in thanks.

_"__Hannon le,"_ he whispered. "I will be back."

The two friends stood there silently saying their farewells until Legolas finally left the balcony. Aragorn watched his friend's retreating back with complicated emotions. He wished to the Valar that both of them would come out of this war alive.

Legolas packed lightly, for he intended to travel fast. It was a long way to Mirkwood and he wanted to make the trip as short as possible. As he was preparing his horse, Arod, he heard the heavy footsteps of Gimli behind him.

"And where are you going master elf?" the dwarf asked.

"I am sorry Gimli. I am afraid our trip to the Glittering Caves and Fangorn must wait," Legolas replied with a sad smile.

"Of course the trip must wait. Did you think going to Mirkwood was going to be a picnic?" Gimli burst. Legolas looked at him in absolute confusion. "Pardon?" Now that he got a closer look at his unlikely friend, he could see that he was packed lightly just as he himself was.

"Aragorn told me. And I am going with you. The lad has a whole army to back him when he needs it. Fortunately, you will have me. Now get me on that beast!" He left no room for argument. Legolas grinned widely. "Is everyone talking about my affairs behind my back?" he said, but was sincerely happy to have his best friend accompany him. "Do not regret this, my friend."

Gimli merely huffed and braced himself by putting his arms around Legolas's waist.

And thus the two friends headed off north to Mirkwood.

* * *

><p><strong>Tirnel the hero! Didn't expect that did you? ;)<strong>

** I planned to put Legolas in the story, but Gimli was completely spontaneous. Let's see how this works out. Thank you for reading and reviews are always welcome!**


	5. Chapter 4

**I can't believe I've written 5 chapters already. Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed. It really means the world to me and it's a huge reason I've continued with this story. Knowing that people enjoy my writing is one hell of a motivation.**

**I watched Battle of the Five Armies a few days ago. Awesome movie. Not exactly the way I imagined it, but an enjoyable film nonetheless. I'm pretty sure the third film was dedicated to Thranduil and Thorin lovers: how can there be so much hotness in one film?**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

_"__'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'__…__'That is the only time a man can be brave.'__"_

_- George R.R. Martin, __'__A Game of Thrones__'_

Thranduil's halls were echoing with the raucous laughter and jabbering of orcs. Their master had left them to their business for now, so they were enjoying their victory by brawling with one another and pillaging the food and wine supplies. Some were challenging each other in a life or death battle, where the loser would lose his head and the winner would be temporarily hailed as a victorious warrior. The challenges shed much blood which entertained the orcs very much, including Tarburz. Until now, he had been content with watching and jeering at the losers, laughing cruelly when they got beheaded. Then, one maggot had the guts to challenge him. His name was Flaguz, a soldier of another captain, and had heard about Tarburz's reputation.

"Come here. If you're the mighty Uruk-hai like they say you are, get your lazy bum down here and fight!"

This was followed by excited murmurs from Tarburz's men. They knew how brutal their captain can be, and many were afraid of him. None of them would dare stand up to Tarburz without something to back them up, so watching this outsider challenge their leader amused them. Tarburz, however, did not respond and continued eating and drinking. Annoyed, Flaguz notched up the taunting.

"Maybe I've overestimated you. I've heard of your strength and cruelty, but now I see that you're just a sitting, pretty elf! 'We are the fighting Uruk-hai?' Nar! More like 'the crying Uruk-hai!'" Using the battle cry of the Uruks, the orc insulted Tarburz, creating a great audience. Without a word, Tarburz drank his remaining wine, threw the empty bottle at the challenger, and stepped inside the circle. The bottle shattered as it hit Flaguz's raised arm, spraying glass everywhere. Flaguz bared his teeth and growled at the provocation.

"Little boy, I'll show you how cruel I can be," threatened Tarburz.

Both orcs drew their swords and circled each other, the audience hooting for whoever turns out victorious. After a tense moment, Flaguz thrust his sword at Tarburz's stomach, which he dodged easily. The captain swung around and cut off the outstretched arm as if it was butter. Roaring in pain, Flaguz held his crippled arm and dropped to the floor. Tarburz stepped up to the fallen orc and grinned. An easy win. He jabbed his sword into his enemy's shoulder, eliciting another ferocious cry.

"I am the mighty Uruk-hai, little boy." Then, without hesitation he swung his heavy sword and cut off Flaguz's head, which rolled over to the audience. The orcs picked up the head, forever frozen in an expression of fear and regret, and tossed it here and there as if in a game of catch. They cheered and raised their arms in respect for the winner. Tarburz held his sword up and roared, emphasizing his triumph. Today was a good day. Perhaps it was due to the wine and the atmosphere, but he was feeling especially happy. He decided to go pay a visit to the silver elf. He had some fun games to play.

Down in the dungeons, a guard was patrolling the cells. He was one of the lower ranks, so he was stuck down here while the higher ones were up there feasting. Grumbling to himself, he let out some of his frustration by occasionally banging on the cell doors and mocking the elves inside. None of them responded, which was boring and rather irritating, so he proceeded to the deeper dungeons where the elf king was kept.

He found the elf staying silent in his cell just like the other ones, but something was different. He was lying on the bed in an awkward position with his legs dangling off the sides, the tip of his boots brushing the floor. It was almost like he fell asleep before he made it to the bed. He was facing the door, but the orc couldn't see his face for it was curtained by his annoyingly long hair. Worst of all, the elf wasn't moving. The underling became a little nervous seeing the prisoner in such a state. He didn't care about the others, but this one wasn't supposed to be dead. Tarburz would have his head if the elf died; or worse, the master would feed him to his pet. His skin crawled as he thought of the Nazgul and the terrible winged creature. He banged the doors loud enough to catch the attention of all in the palace.

"Wake up filth! Nobody said you could sleep!" he hollered. But the elf didn't even flinch. Knowing the elf's arms were restrained and helpless, the orc decided to go inside and check if he really was dead. The guard fumbled with his keys and after a few tries, got the right one in the keyhole. He thrust the door open and stomped toward the limp elf. Just as he was about to turn him over, though, the prisoner suddenly jumped up from the bed and slapped his outstretched hand to the side. Before the guard could shout a warning, the elf slammed an arm onto his neck, squeezing his windpipe and driving him against the wall. The silver elf's eyes were cold and hard, boring into the orc's beady, yellow ones like knives. The two stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, when the elf started to move. With his arm still pressing into the orc, he twisted his wrist so his palm was touching the orc's neck, and raised his other arm and crossed it over to the opposite side of the orc's head. The beast's eyes widened in fear, but he never a chance to retaliate because the king pulled with all his elven strength, breaking the orc's neck and ending its miserable life for good.

When the lifeless orc dropped to the floor, Thranduil frowned at the body, his lips slightly curled in disdain. He had broken his bonds against the wall some time ago, and had been waiting patiently for an opportunity like this. He grabbed the keys from the floor and after a brief pause picked up the orc's jagged sword as well. Ears on the alert for anything suspicious, Thranduil stepped out of his prison and silently crept over to find the others. He would occasionally stop to look behind him, but found no pursuers. But Thranduil was a cautious elf: although the journey was slow, he did not let his guard down even in the slightest. It took a while, but he finally approached the east dungeon where he assumed held Laegon and the other elves. To his dismay, he found two orcs on guard. One, he could take care of quietly, but he could not take on two without raising an alarm. He stood there in the shadows for a moment weighing his options when he heard the two orcs bickering about something in the black tongue. He could not understand what they were saying, but the two did not seem to be on friendly terms. Eventually, they drew weapons and clashed with each other, fighting until one of them took a sword to the heart and died there on the spot. Thranduil smiled at this turn of events; the Valar must bless him still. When the remaining orc had its back turned to the elf, Thranduil sneaked up behind him and sank his sword into its neck. He never knew what hit him.

At the sound of a body falling, several elves peeked out of the bars to see what was going on. When they saw their liege standing over two corpses with a bloody sword, they were ecstatic to see that he was alive and in one piece, and hopeful that they were getting out of here.

"King Thranduil! I am glad you are all right!" one whispered.

"Yes, yes, I am unharmed. Does everyone fare well?" Thranduil asked. All the elves whispered that they were whole except for one.

"Tirnel has been poisoned, _hir nin_." It was Talia.

Thranduil walked up to the cell and looked inside, all the while searching for the key to unlock the door. He recognized the messenger elf as the one that had evacuated the palace beforehand.

"Ah, the young one… there is no way to thank him enough for his valiant deeds. How does he fare?" he asked.

"I do not think he has been dosed enough to be killed, but he is in significant pain. He passed out not long after he was thrown in here. I cannot help him for they did not give us even food or water," Talia replied sadly.

Thranduil's eyes hardened once more as he fixed his gaze on the unconscious elf. He was still breathing and he would live, but would be considerably weakened. Finally, his fingers found the right key and was about to turn the lock, when he suddenly gasped and collapsed against the door.

"My Lord!" Talia shouted. She scrambled over to the bars and sharply inhaled when she saw an arrow protruding from his right thigh. It was oozing blood and something black, which could not be a good sign.

"Well isn't this touching?" Tarburz purred. He was holding a loaded crossbow aimed at Thranduil. "Is that your mate? Won't it be fun if I killed the she-dog in front of you?" He turned the crossbow at Talia. She didn't move but looked straight at Tarburz, eyes never wavering. Thranduil wanted to move, but found that he hadn't the strength. He was completely conscious, but his body didn't feel like it was his. The hand that was still grasping the bars started to loosen and he slithered to the floor like a lifeless doll.

"Ugh…"

It wasn't entirely impossible, but speech was also becoming difficult. All he was able to do was look up at the ceiling, wildly confused. Tarburz lowered the crossbow and walked over to the fallen elf king. He looked down at Thranduil, and the elf couldn't help but frown at being looked down upon by an orc. It was a rather disturbing feeling.

The Uruk tapped a small pouch on the side of his hip. "It's from one of our spiders. She said it'd be useful against you dogs. It paralyzes your body, but leaves your eyes wide open. She says the fear makes you taste better. Shame it takes away your voice though. I would have loved to hear you scream, Elfling."

"You filth! Do not touch..!" but Talia never had the chance to finish her sentence for Tarburz slammed his heavy boot against the bars. She had to quickly retreat to avoid getting her fingers crushed.

"Get back inside or I will gut you and eat you for dinner," he threatened, crossbow once again pointed in her direction. Intimidated by the weapon aimed at her heart, she backed away a few steps, all the while trying to kill him with her glare. Tarburz ignored her and reached down to rip the arrow from Thranduil's leg. He jerked at the rough treatment and glowered at the beast. Tarburz scoffed and easily slung the unresisting Thranduil over his shoulder.

"I am Tarburz, the undefeatable Uruk-hai. Captain of 1,000 men! Remember me, She-elf, for I will be the one to destroy your king!" He banged the cell door once more for emphasis.

"Any of you maggots try to escape, and I will break him to an inch of his worthless life!" At his words, the elves, with some difficulty, held their tongues and were forced to allow Tarburz to walk away with their leader without a fight.

When he was gone, Talia screamed in frustration and banged her fist against the wall again and again until her knuckles bled, and even then she did not stop. 'How cowardly I am!' she thought. 'Is my attachment to life a hindrance to my loyalty to the king?'

"Talia? Talia what is wrong?" a weak voice asked. Tirnel had heard her screaming and thought she was in trouble. However, Talia was too distraught and ashamed to look at him. He crawled over to his friend and gingerly put a hand on her shoulder. He was surprised to find that she was shaking.

"I do not deserve life, Tirnel. How can I be a warrior when I fear death? I am sworn to protect the king, but I could not give him aid when he needed it," she sobbed.

"Do not say such things! Life is a gift that we all must value." Tirnel grabbed Talia and spun her around to face him. She kept her head down in shame, so he put his hand on her chin and gently coaxed her to look at him. "Just because you are a warrior, does not mean your life is meant to be thrown away so easily. If everyone tried to die for the king, who would be left to protect him?" he asked, but Talia was not so easily convinced.

"I am a coward!" she cried. "I watched that monster take him away, and I was too afraid to stop him!"

"One would not know bravery if he did not know fear first. It is fine to be frightened. It is merely a door; you must go through it to find courage." Tirnel's strength was failing him quickly, so he slowly pulled her down onto the floor, and hugged her. He held onto her until her trembling ceased. "You are a brave _elleth [woman]_, Talia. Do not forget that." He had never seen Talia like this. He had always seen her as calm, in control, and a valiant warrior. She had come close to knocking on death's doors many times before, why be daunted by it now? He wondered what caused her to break down so.

"What is it you fear so much?" he asked. Talia looked blankly past Tirnel, beyond the walls of the dungeons, beyond the borders of the kingdom. Her mind seemed to be lost somewhere.

"I fear to hope. I hope that he is still alive out there. And I fear that I should die here and never see him again."

* * *

><p>Far away on the other side of the dungeons, Tarburz found Thranduil's cell, which still held the dead guard, and dropped the elf onto the floor. Thranduil couldn't do anything to cushion the fall, so he bumped his head onto the hard surface. He scowled and closed his eyes as his head throbbed, bringing the old injury back to life as well. The elf king lay in a vulnerable position: his arms were splayed out, exposing his entire chest which was rising and falling slowly in time with his breathing. It was even getting difficult to breathe, he realized with a jolt. Each breath was rather laborious, and he had to inhale deeply and slowly to get sufficient air.<p>

"Why don't we have some fun together?" The Uruk cooed. He almost licked his lips in anticipation. To have an elf at his mercy, and one of those higher ones at that, was very...exhilarating. He decided to toy with him a bit, watch him squirm. Tarburz crouched down, grabbed a handful of the silky hair, and yanked on it until Thranduil was sitting up. He watched the elf's eyes widen and harden in rage, which amused him. He dropped the staring contest and reached down to dig a claw into the arrow wound. He watched as the elf struggled to retain composure in spite of the pain. Thranduil desperately tried to regain control of his limbs, which were hanging uselessly by his side. He wanted to break this orc's neck like he did to the guard, but a thousand times more painfully. The brute was trying very hard to crush his dignity, and he promised himself that this one would not die swiftly.

Tarburz took his sword and held the point dangerously close to Thranduil's face. Thranduil didn't blink, but continued to bore a hole through the sadistic orc. When the orc thought he had intimidated the elf with his weapon, he started cutting the collar of his tunic haphazardly to reveal his entire neck. Then he placed the tip of his sword on Thranduil's left collarbone.

"I remember that you like your shiny things," he said. Then he slowly traced his sword across the elf's neck, creating a bloody necklace. He did it slowly, wringing out the stinging pain. The sword was jagged, and it seemed like he was being especially careful to make sure the rougher edges cut the skin. Thranduil's voice was lost somewhere deep inside, and he couldn't utter the slightest sound. He gritted his teeth and refused to show any weakness. When Tarburz finished, he plastered a sinister grin on his face and traced a claw along the wound, causing Thranduil to shudder despite the paralysis. His neck was now leaking blood which stained his bright clothes a dark red. The orc's eyes shined with malice and lust as it traced the cut. Thranduil had a plethora of colorful curses he wanted to throw at the orc, but all that made it past his lips was a whispered "disgusting…_yrch_…."

Tarburz frowned at the defiance. "It really is no fun when I can't hear you scream." He reached inside his pocket and pulled out two other pouches similar to the one holding the paralyzing poison, except they were smaller. He wiggled the pouches in front of Thranduil's eyes, which flickered briefly to the items, then back to Tarburz.

"I sneaked these especially for you," he said, "but I'm not going to use it just yet." He dropped the pouches and without warning, picked up his sword and stabbed Thranduil's left thigh. Thranduil was so surprised by the sudden attack that he instinctively cried out, but no sound came out except for a soft wheeze. Tarburz pulled out the sword, and this time plunged it into his side, but not deep enough to cause excessive bleeding. Thranduil bit down so hard he thought his teeth would shatter. The orc reveled in every bit of pain the elf was feeling, but it was not enough. It was time he heard the great elven king cry.

Tarburz pulled out his weapon out of Thranduil's side and made shallow cuts all over his body. Thranduil closed his eyes and let out a shivering breath as his whole body started to sting. Then, the orc reached for one of the small pouches and uncorked it. He let go of Thranduil's hair and grabbed his jaw instead, forcing his mouth open and tilting his head back so much that his neck ached. The elf king felt so degraded being handled by an orc like such, but he could not move a muscle as Tarburz dumped into his throat whatever contents the pouch held. It tasted vile, and with his head held in place, he couldn't control his throat as it obediently swallowed the liquid. He coughed, and some of the potion dribbled down his chin, mixing with his blood. Tarburz shoved Thranduil to the floor, and watched him with a suspicious grin. For a moment, nothing happened and Thranduil thought the orc would leave.

That was when something started to burn from the inside out. It spread rapidly all over his body and his wounds ached tenfold; daggers were forcing themselves into the numerous cuts spotting his body; and his muscles were being ripped apart by an angry cave troll. His stomach churned as the poison swam inside, unleashing its magic. It was even more agonizing because despite the pain he still couldn't lift a finger except for the occasional weak spasm. So he lay there in silent torment, twisting his head around in a feeble effort to alleviate the torture with only his contorted expression hinting at his losing battle. His snowy hair was dyed a deep red, blending into the pool of blood he was lying in. The pain escalated to such a degree that Thranduil did not know who he was anymore, and he could not care less. There was not a part of him that did not hurt. His back arched involuntarily and he let out a low moan. As if on cue, Tarburz took the remaining pouch and emptied it down Thranduil's mouth the same way he forced down the poison. It wasn't very difficult because the elf could barely register what was happening around him. Slowly, Thranduil's fingers started to twitch, and his arms left the floor to weakly wrap around his middle. His voice was also returned to him, but control over it was not as he opened his mouth and finally surrendered to the agony with a bloodcurdling scream.

**My first attempt at a torture scene. It wasn't very dynamic like I hoped it would be…**


	6. Chapter 5

**Happy New Year to all! :D I leave for the states on the 5****th**** for my exchange student program so I'm so excited about that. I'm kind of worried that my updates will become late, but I'll try to persevere. **

**I was so surprised by all those review emails I received. I want to answer each of them, but I don't know how to answer guest reviews. I thought about replying here in public, but I felt like it was breaching our little privacy or something haha **

**What I'm trying to say is, I appreciate each review whether you're guest or not :) I'm sorry I couldn't answer to guests. I still read them though!**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

_"__Not all those who wander are lost.__"_

_- Bilbo Baggins_

The forest of Mirkwood was quiet, devoid of the usual song and cheer of the elves. The trees were withering as they grieved for their elvish friends trapped among fell beasts. Then, suddenly they seemed to perk up as a lone, soft voice traveled on the wind, tickling their green leaves. It was a song. Celegon was singing. He had been stumbling through the forest for two days with little rest, and was singing to try to revive some of his vigor. He sang of Greenwood, of feasts, of friendship, and of love. His mind wandered to Talia for the umpteenth time, the reason he kept going. He had to know that she still has hope, and thus he vowed to himself that he would be her hope. Oh, but it was so hard to keep some for himself. He was quickly losing strength. The journey was slow and arduous as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. He had not had food to eat, his wound was throbbing, and the only source of water he had come across was the enchanted forest river, which should never be drunk. He tried to refrain from thinking about these things, which was part of the reason for his songs.

He was suddenly cut off mid-verse when he slipped on a loose stone and stumbled to the floor. He felt more embarrassment than pain, because if he had been in better condition, he wouldn't have found himself sprawled along the grass. But admittedly, it felt so good to just lie there, basking in the sun, free from the pain. Celegon was almost tempted to give in to exhaustion, when he noticed the vast plain ahead. He had reached the edge of the forest. He gave a giddy laugh, amazed that he made it this far. Just a little more and he would reach the Anduin River, where he could cross at the Old Ford, and most importantly, drink some water.

He half sighed, half sobbed, and slowly got up on his knees. For a while, he just sat there with his arms by his side, staring at the road ahead. A light breeze stroked his hair, whispering reassurances to the tired elf. Celegon closed his eyes and enjoyed the coolness with a small, but genuine smile on his face. Even his injuries seemed to heal faster. With renewed strength, Celegon finally stood up and continued west to the Anduin.

It took almost the whole day with brief rests in between to cover the distance. When he reached the river at last, he cried out with joy at the wonderful sight. The elf dragged himself over to the riverbank and greedily lapped up the water. When he had his fill, he took off his dirty tunic to tend to his wound. It was wrapped hastily with strips of clothing he could spare, but the bleeding had thankfully stopped. He slowly tore the cloth away, and grimaced when he saw the ugly thing. There was a huge, fresh, bloody scab covering the puncture wound that looked like it would burst open at the softest touch. Celegon bit his lip at the gruesome sight. Gently, he washed the still tender gash. It was a little difficult to do with only one hand, for his left wrist still hurt. Nonetheless, the water was cool and soothing, and Celegon sighed in relief.

The warrior suddenly became alert as he heard noises not so far away. It sounded like a stampede. He didn't have a weapon, nor did he have the strength to climb a tree, so he crouched low behind one and waited for the assumed threat to pass. It wasn't a very secure hiding place, but he hoped the cover of night would help. However, his heart skipped a beat as he realized the sound was not a stampede, but an army of about a hundred orcs marching by the river. They were passing by where Celegon was hidden, when suddenly the leader signaled for them to stop. Celegon stayed absolutely still, making no noise except for his heart pounding in his chest. He prayed they wouldn't hear that. The leader took a deep breath and growled softly.

"Why did we stop, Barash?" One of the orcs asked.

"I smell an elf," said Barash. His army roared at the mention of the fair beings. They had lost many of their kind to the elves of Lothlorien a few days ago, and were itching to get their revenge.

"I don't see nothing. Maybe it's gone?" complained another.

Barash inhaled deeply once more and smiled. "No, it's still here."

"Where is the little tree rat? I could use some sport." He scrutinized the trees, sword in hand. He knew it was injured and hiding; the stench of his blood and fear lingered in the air.

"Tarburz will not like it if we're late," someone pointed out. The captain growled at the mention of the other Uruk-hai.

"To Shelob with Tarburz! I don't take orders from him."

"Well, he takes orders from the Master, and the Master says to come to the northern forest."

Barash has had enough of this orc's sass. "And you take orders from ME!" he shouted enraged. He threateningly placed his sword on the soldier's chest. "Get back in line or I will poke holes in your belly and force you to crawl all the way." Simmering, the lesser orc shut his mouth. Barash spat at the ground in front of the orc's feet and left him to his grumbling.

Celegon knew he couldn't stay here. They would find him sooner or later, and kill him - or worse - take him prisoner. Without moving his head, his eyes desperately darted around to look for some way to escape. The orcs were practically surrounding the trees and bushes he was concealed in, so the only way to go was to the river; though, he would have to risk being seen. It wasn't his best choice, but it was his only choice as he calculated that he had a better chance with it than with the orcs. Keeping low, Celegon took one cautious step back and inched himself down towards the water. He was careful not to make any sudden movements, and always kept an eye ahead. He could now see clearly the legions of orcs, and he had to keep himself from rushing and putting himself in danger. His patience was rewarded as the distance between him and the river became ever shorter with no events.

"If he's not above the trees, then maybe the rat is behind them."

Celegon inhaled sharply as he heard those words. He would be caught! There was only one thing to do.

He ran.

This caused a commotion as the orcs saw him and scrambled to draw their weapons. Barash yelled orders as he picked up his bow. The elf seemed to speed up as his men pursued him, but Barash patiently held his bow tight and steady. He flashed his yellow teeth as he saw that the elf was running straight: an easy target. He let his arrow fly the same time Celegon dived into the river, swallowing up both elf and arrow. It was impossible to know if Barash hit his mark, and he stomped in frustration as he lost track of his prey.

"Where is it? Find the body!" he roared.

The orcs hesitated to go near the rushing current.

"He'll never make it anyway; the river runs swift. I say we leave it!" said the orc that had talked back before. The captain became rather antagonized at the comment and at the lack of outcome, but deep inside he knew it would be a waste of time to go after one elf. He hated to admit that this one was right. Without a word, he turned from the river and proceeded to the front of the line, not hesitating to stick his sword into the arm of the sassy soldier on the way. The orc cried out in pain and surprise as he clutched his injured arm, glaring at Barash's back.

"I told you filth that I would make you crawl. I'm going to make sure you fear me over the rat Tarburz," Barash whispered threateningly.

The smaller orc had no choice but to bow his head in fear, but bared his teeth in utter humiliation. The captain seemed satisfied by the silence, and issued orders to march on. Barash's army was on their way to the halls of Thranduil once more.

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><p>"I do not understand this, Haldir!"<p>

Haldir and Rumil had been keeping to the Anduin River, when they noticed that they had unwittingly been following a party of orcs. The tracks were fresh, which meant that they were only a day or so ahead, and Haldir had presumed after a while that they were the retreating orcs that had attacked Lorien.

"We've been coming across these tracks countless times for days. Why are they going north and not back east to their vulgar fortress?" asked Rumil. He dug his boot into one of the many footprints imprinted into the earth to express his loathing.

"I know not," replied Haldir, "Indeed, this has become rather troublesome; now we must be on the lookout for a hundred orcs in front of us!"

He crouched down and studied the ground, eyes searching for any clues he could use to piece together the puzzle. The tracks seemed to be in a hurry, but they were honest. It didn't look like the orcs knew of the two pursuing elves, which lowered the risk of a trap. So where were they going? The only orc stronghold up there was the forsaken fortress of Gundabad. Haldir had several other guesses, but the road to Mirkwood was dangerous enough without the additional threat of an orc army, and he didn't want to endanger their journey with any hasty decisions. Rumil, meanwhile, was cursing the footprints and rubbing his shoes into them, pretending they were orc faces.

"Well, seeing as they are on the same path as us, I guess there is no choice but to continue after them and fight if it comes to that," Rumil suggested.

Haldir looked up from the ground at his younger brother with an amused expression. "We are two and they are hundreds."

"We are two elves and they are a hundred orcs."

Haldir burst out laughing, a musical baritone peppered with good humor. "I worry your recklessness will one day get you killed, but I admire you for that." He patted Rumil on the back. "Come, there is no use in guessing their destination as long as we keep a good distance from them. But, if all goes wrong, you might be getting that orc hunt you have been so eager for."

Rumil grinned at his brother. "Agreed, let's keep a safe distance."

Now more alert than before, the elf brothers jogged along the Anduin, making sure that they were not straying too close to the orcs ahead.

They had not gone far when Rumil found something by the river.

"Look! There's something in the water. It looks like a body!" he exclaimed.

The two elves diverted their attention from the tracks and rushed over to the body lying face down on the riverbank. Behind it, there was a trail leading from the water; it seemed that whoever this was had used all his strength to pull himself up from the river. He was not moving, and there was an arrow sticking out of one shoulder. As they came closer, they could now clearly see that the body was in fact, an elf. His clothes were severely ruined, but they were undeniably green and brown: the colors of Mirkwood.

"Elbereth, an elf from Mirkwood!" whispered Haldir. He immediately recognized the arrow as an orc's. He didn't know what story this elf had to tell, but he could rightly guess that he had unfortunately run into the orcs they were following. He put his ear to the elf's mouth and nose and closed his eyes, listening. When he felt his ears tickle from the elf's breath, he sprang into action.

"Rumil, in my satchel there are a few herbs and bandages."

"What are you planning to do?"

"I am going to take this arrow out while he is still unconscious."

Haldir placed one hand on the elf's back and gripped the arrow firmly. He took a few steady breaths and expertly yanked it out. The elf didn't react. Without wasting a second, he washed the wound clean and applied the herbs and bandages Rumil brought. As he was doing so, he noticed another wound below this one – a stab wound? It didn't look new, but had reopened. He pitied this elf. What misfortune had he gone through? He used the remaining supplies on the messy injury and tidied it up. The tight bounds must have been uncomfortable, because the elf groaned and stirred as Haldir tied the last knot. He smiled, grateful that the herbs were working.

"_Mae govannen [well met]_ my friend. It is great fortune that we should meet here," he greeted.

"_Hir-hir nin-?" _murmured the weakened elf.

"Nay, I am not your lord. My name is Haldir, I am a marchwarden from Lothlorien. That is my brother, Rumil."

At the mention of the Golden Woods, the elf jerked in shock.

"Have I drifted that far?" he asked incredulously. Haldir shook his head once more and told him that he was not even a league from the Old Ford. The elf visibly relaxed, and even seemed a little happy. Glad that his patient was reviving, Haldir felt that it was the right time to inquire the elf.

"You gave my brother and me quite a fright. You were stricken with many wounds; mayhap you would tell us what happened?" he asked.

The elf frowned as if trying to remember the past events before opening his mouth.

"Forgive me. I have been indifferent to your kindness. Thank you for treating my body. My name is Celegon, and I am a warrior from Mirkwood."

"Ah, so you are indeed! We were on our way to those woods to deliver a message to King Thranduil," said Rumil. A shadow flickered across Celegon's complexion and he bowed his head.

"Then I am afraid your trip would have to be cut short," he whispered.

"What do you mean?"

After an uncomfortable pause, Celegon told them of the massive attack on Mirkwood and how he had almost died (he didn't mention the details), only to wake up to find that the orcs had won. He told them of the two day trek through the forest and the encounter with Barash's army. He told them of the treacherous journey in the water; how the current mercilessly threw him against the rocks and constantly pushed him below, yielding no air. He didn't remember climbing back up the bank. When he was finished, Celegon briefly closed his eyes. Despite Haldir's treatment, the shortcut through the river had taken a great toll him, and even talking was strenuous. Haldir and Rumil didn't press him for more; they had heard enough. Their expressions were dark as Celegon's story confirmed their fears.

"So it is true… King Thranduil has lost." The three elves fell silent as they took in the hard truth.

It was Rumil that spoke first.

"Well, we won't be getting anywhere if we stay here. The Lady and the Lord must be informed of this."

"Yes, they do. I will go," said Haldir. "Celegon was right to head to Rivendell; King Thranduil will need all the aid he can get. Rumil, will you accompany our friend?"

"Of course. I will give everything to protect him," answered Rumil.

Celegon could not believe what he was hearing. These two strangers were willing to help him! He felt like he could cry in relief. Until now, he had doubted whether he would be able make it to Rivendell on his own. This was such a fortunate turn of events!

_"__Hannon le… hannon le…!" _he kept repeating.

"No Celegon my friend, thank _you_. You have bought us time and given us a chance to save the kingdom. But we must make haste. Forgive me, I must leave you now. May we meet again in merrier days!" After a brief goodbye, Haldir left the two elves and hurried back south to Lorien with his new mission.

"Can you stand?" Rumil asked. Celegon had been lying on the ground unmoving save for his lips. The Lorien elf wondered if any bones were broken. He offered his hand to Celegon, who took it with shaking arms, but collapsed before he could straighten himself. Celegon thought his legs had turned to water: they felt nonexistent and weak! He tried again with the help of Rumil, and managed to put his own two feet on the ground. He took a few tentative steps to test his legs, and was content when he did not fall again.

"I am sorry Celegon, but we cannot rest here. We do not know how many more orcs may be lurking nearby," said Rumil.

"No, indeed. I wish to reach Rivendell as quickly as possible. I promise I will not burden you with my injuries," said Celegon. He looked back at Rumil and gave him an honest smile. "Thank you for everything _mellon nin_."

"You are most welcome." Although he was still worried for Celegon's grave condition, Rumil smiled back at the brave elf and followed after him to the Last Homely House.

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><p>Back in Thranduil's halls, Barash's army had just passed the main gates. Stepping into an elven realm for the first time, the captain couldn't stop himself from looking around in awe. The kingdom was vast beyond what he had imagined. To think that Tarburz got all the credit for conquering the forest elfling while he was merely a distraction for the She-elf angered Barash. Now his rival and not he had gained the favor of the Master! He stomped through the kingdom and found Tarburz sitting on the wooden throne looking down at his army as if he were king!<p>

"You're late, Barash," he said in a haughty tone. Barash growled at the display of phony superiority and stepped up to him. Tarburz didn't seem surprised at the rebellious act.

"I arrive when I want to, swine. Get down from that chair or I'll make you."

Tarburz didn't move an inch, but stared at Barash with a mocking grin on his face.

"Now that's no way to talk to the Master of this fortress," he sneered.

"Nar, you're not the Master. The Nazgul is. Where is he?"

"He's out doing business that's none of yours, and he's put me in charge of the place until he comes back.

"You lie, swine!"

But deep down, he knew Tarburz told the truth. He had always been favored more by the Master. Barash couldn't believe it. He'd served the Nazgul longer than Tarburz's kind was even spawned. He himself was the first Uruk-hai, creation of Sauron himself! Not the hybrids bred by the scum Saruman the White. They were dirty blood, tainted by the hand of a wizard, and Barash would never accept them as his own kin.

Tarburz watched Barash's confused and furious expression with increasing amusement. He knew this made the orc jealous, and so he was laughing inside as Barash had no choice but to acknowledge his authority. He decided to tease the orc a little more.

"I see you've lost a lot of men too. I've made something for you that you might enjoy. Are you still thirsting for elf blood? We've saved plenty for you and your men," he said in a misleadingly kind manner as if asking him out for tea. Breathing heavily through his nostrils, Barash bared his teeth at Tarburz, but stayed silent. He would confront the Nazgul about this later. Right now, he actually did crave elf suffering, more to distract himself from this insufferable situation than anything. So, he decided to humor the other captain for his own needs. He composed himself and grinned malevolently at Tarburz.

"Show me."

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><p><strong>Gaaaah I didn't know where to cut! This was such a hard chapter to write. I have a whole timeline written down, but I had to make a few adjustments to fit the story as I went through this chapter. Unfortunately, I still couldn't get the events in proper order. Screw time.<strong>

**Also, hurrah for Celegon! Finally, some good fortune for the poor elf.. Once again, happy new year everyone!**


	7. Chapter 6

**I'm sure you missed Thranduil as much as I did. There's plenty of him in chapter 6. ;) This chapter can have some pretty gruesome and uncomfortable parts. You have been warned.**

**Also I am so sorry that I was so late. My classes started and I'm getting used to life here and school and everything. It's really fun, but it's still very different. Never think that I abandoned you guys!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

_"__Elvish singing is not a thing to miss, in June under the stars, not if you care for such things.__" _

_- From __'__The Hobbit__'_

Thranduil woke up to the dank smell of dust and blood. He was curled into himself in a pool of his own blood, exactly the way Tarburz had left him. Oh how his whole body ached. He could still feel the remnants of the poison swimming in his veins, sending sporadic jolts of pain throughout his limbs; the places Tarburz stabbed were still letting out some blood; and his ears rang with the echoes of his own screams. He had ripped his throat hoarse until he finally fainted from pain and exhaustion. He remembered the Orc had laughed when he screamed. He laughed! Thranduil's eyebrows twitched in irritation at the humiliating memory. Determined to conceal any more weaknesses, he painfully rose from the ground. He gasped as both legs complained and brought him crashing back down on his knees. He remained kneeling, chuckling sarcastically as he was reminded that both legs were crippled. Nonetheless, he set his jaw and forced them to support him. The last thing he would do was crawl on the floor like some broken animal.

He swayed on his feet as he felt a sense of vertigo overwhelm him, and he slammed his palms against the wall for support. That slight impact jarred his frame and the king hissed as his injuries flared to life.

'I swear I will kill that _yrch_ with my own two hands,' he thought, all the while glaring at the wall as if it was the one responsible. Something warm brought his attention to the still gaping hole in his side. He would have to at least staunch the bleeding. He sluggishly made his way to the bed and stripped the thin sheets off. With some difficulty in his weakened condition, he ripped out long pieces of it and wrapped them tightly around his abdomen, ignoring the pain. As he leaned down to treat his thighs, a drop of blood landed on the white sheet, briefly confusing the Elf king. He timidly touched the disgraceful line on his neck and brought his hand back to see his fingertips painted red. Thranduil's eyes flashed dangerously, his mind conjuring up imaginative ways to torture and kill the hateful creature. Of all the injuries inflicted on him, Tarburz's "bloody necklace" humiliated him the most: visible for all to see and mock, and likely to leave a permanent scar. He tried to wipe the dried blood off his chest, and angrily covered his neck with the remaining strips of cloth. Each small movement made him ache in numerous places, but he ignored them all and focused on making himself as presentable as possible. He even tried to comb through his tangled, dirtied locks. He was determined not to satisfy that beast Tarburz with a frail, disheveled form.

Once he was done, Thranduil caught himself licking his lips in thirst. His throat was absolutely parched from abuse, and the loss of blood was very unhelpful. He hadn't drunk any water for three – four days? He had lost track of time. He really longed for some of his best wines. But that was not a luxury he could afford right now; so instead, the Elvenking closed his eyes and settled for reminiscing about the marvelous feasts that took place in these halls. He remembered an especially beautiful night with a copious amount of stars when everybody had been gleefully drunk. He didn't remember what the occasion was, but it had been a glorious party with lots of delightful food and Dorwinion wine so fine that it would make the most stubborn dwarf king jealous. A small smile made its way to Thranduil's lips as he could almost taste the savory drink, its rich, fruity, slightly sweet aroma embracing his senses. He lost himself in the nostalgic memories until he heard the rough voices and footsteps of Orcs outside.

His expression immediately turned sour as several small Orcs peered into the cell. They pointed and cackled at him as if he were some poor creature on display for show. He held his head proudly, and coldly held their stares until they looked away first, but not before spitting and cursing at him. Then, the Orcs moved aside as a larger one appeared and rattled the keys in the lock, throwing the door open to allow them to swarm inside. There were about six, and Thranduil's heart jumped a beat when they surrounded him and tried to lay their ugly paws on him. He leaped from the bed and kept his back to the wall to keep them from enclosing him from all sides, his hands raised in a defensive yet threatening way. The Orcs jeered and cursed, but kept wary eyes on his hands as if there was a deadly weapon held, and hesitated to come forth. Encouraged by their fear, Thranduil kicked out at a nearby soldier, sending him reeling backwards toward the crowd. There was much pushing and cursing as he was thrown back at the Elf, who easily dodged and powerfully slammed the Orc's face into the wall using the momentum. He never moved again.

For a moment, all noise ceased as the remaining Orcs were dumbstruck by the swift death dealt to their comrade. Then, the large Orc that had unlocked the door spoke up.

"You boys can't even bring in one elf? Get a move on or I'll report you all to Tarburz I will."

Apparently, Tarburz scared them more than Thranduil did, because the Orcs seemed to become more motivated to subdue him as they moved forward with more fervor. They tore at his clothes, hair, skin; anything they could get their hands on. Despite his diminished strength, Thranduil was actually defending himself well. He had knocked out one more Orc and was taking on the remaining four when the large one stomped forward, grabbed his arm, and violently twisted it behind his back in an unnatural position. Thranduil yelled out and was forced to one knee, all of his injuries squealing in protest. The slightest movement sent shockwaves of pain up his limb, so he stayed absolutely still, hoping it would cause the Orc to loosen his grip. He did no such thing, and pushed further instead. The Elf groaned. He thought his arm would break clean in half!

The giant Orc growled at the small, cowering soldiers and shoved the stunned Elf toward them. This time, they successfully grabbed onto him and towed him out of the cell. They were all smaller than he was, so Thranduil had to bend his knees awkwardly when they pulled him down. Not liking the feeling of Orc paws on his body and thinking he has had enough of this nonsense, he jerked away from their grasps and stood tall. He straightened his bedraggled clothes and ran a hand down his hair.

"I will walk by myself," he firmly declared in a voice that was not too loud, but it was hoarse and scratchy unlike the usual melodious tone it contains.

They did not look happy, but allowed him to walk on. Still, they occasionally jabbed a sword into his back to push him on faster, which Thranduil conveniently dismissed.

As they walked along the halls of his kingdom, Thranduil could see that they were headed toward the large, open area where his feasts were held. As they approached, though, he saw with great annoyance that the Orcs have turned his grand party room into an arena of some sort: the tables were gone, the statues were overturned, and the plants had been trampled on. They had also formed a loose circle where two beings were fighting in the middle. He stopped briefly (to which the Orcs prodded him along) when he realized the two beings were an armed Orc and a weaponless Elf. 'How cowardly of them!' he thought. He noticed that there was a small group of Elves held in one corner. Obviously, not all of the prisoners had been brought in to ensure that they don't rely on their numbers and revolt, but Laegon was found among them, and the captain raised his head when the Orcs brought in the king. Actually, Thranduil walked in on his own accord with four Orcs following behind. The king walked with such dignity and pride that Laegon smirked with satisfaction as he thought it looked like he was leading the Orcs, not the other way around. But he was dismayed when his eyes traced the numerous bandaging on his body. And although he walked straight, there was also an almost unnoticeable limp in Thranduil's steps. Had Laegon not served him for hundreds of years, he would never have seen it. It angered him greatly. He had heard the terrible screams that resonated throughout the halls, but never in his immortal life would he have associated them with the king's. He was still doubtful before Thranduil spoke.

"Barbarians," he hissed. Laegon cringed at the harshness of the once beautiful voice.

"What's that it says?" demanded an Orc.

All of a sudden, there was a horrible wail cut short that instantly grabbed the attention of all the Elves. Thranduil whipped his head in the direction of the circle to find a nauseating scene: the Orc that had been fighting in the circle was holding up the poor Elf's head in triumph as if it was a trophy. The face was contorted in immense pain which both grieved and angered the king and all his subjects. Then the Orc threw the head over to – Elbereth – a pile of other mutilated Elf corpses. Thranduil couldn't help himself as he shook with rage.

"How dare you?" he whispered so low that even Laegon couldn't hear him.

Without warning, Thranduil grabbed one of his escort Orcs' swords and sliced his way into the circle. The adjacent Orcs hastily stepped back to avoid being cut down, allowing him to reach the perpetrator easily. He swung down at the murderous beast with considerable strength, but the Orc quickly turned around to meet his sword with its own. The Orc was strong, but Thranduil was using speed as he quickly retreated and stuck the weapon into its arm instead. He didn't wait for a reaction as he immediately pulled back and used the Orc's momentary distraction to plunge the sword squarely into its neck, making it fall clutching its injury. The king looked down in utter distaste at the dying Orc, and was met with wide fearful eyes. Showing no mercy, he slammed a boot down onto its neck and pressed down, squeezing the blood out faster. The Orc's groping hands slowly lost strength before it flopped down onto the floor and moved no more. If Laegon's hands had been free, he would have reached out to Thranduil in a gesture of respect, for his king had avenged the death of his friends. The Orcs, however, weren't as ecstatic.

Before they could do anything though, a loud guffaw rang throughout the room.

"The little Elfling has decided to join us!"

Thranduil slowly turned his head to look at the laughing Tarburz. Still holding the sword which was dripping black blood onto the floor, he stood unmoving with his eyes fixed on the cruel Orc, who ceased his laughing and stepped into the ring. The circle opened to create a path for Tarburz, and Thranduil found himself standing face to face with the Orc. Neither moved staring each other down, until Tarburz spoke first.

"We had some fun yesterday didn't we?" Tarburz said to Thranduil. Out of a somewhat childish act of defiance, Thranduil stood taller and gave him a sassy, crooked smirk.

"If that is your definition of fun, I daresay I would like to try it on you as well. I would much enjoy it," he said, emphasizing every word on the last sentence.

Tarburz gave him a confusing mixture of a smirk and a sneer, and nodded toward one of the Orcs. Thranduil never took his eyes off the enemy in front of him, but followed the other one out of the corner of his eye. When he heard a grunt, his eyes darted to where the Orc was bringing in one of the Elves by the hair. The flash of confusion that showed on Thranduil's eyes was quickly replaced by horror when the Elf was shoved in front of Tarburz, who in turn pushed the helpless, bound Elf toward Thranduil.

"Kill him."

"What?" Thranduil retorted. He was so shocked by those words that he spoke before he realized it.

"The boys want to have fun, and what's better than two dead Elves? Or better, two fighting Elves?" The Orcs burst into hysterical giggles at their leader's comment.

"You're clearly mad." He was not about to fight another being for the sake of sport.

Tarburz merely grinned and stepped menacingly toward the nervous Elf. "You kill him, or I will." Thranduil fingered the sword in his hand, hideous in all its evil and bane. He could always lunge at the infuriating Orc, but then that would mean sure death for him and all his subjects. This both-sided hostage situation was starting to get extremely frustrating. Racking his brain for any solution, Thranduil locked eyes with the Elf and tried to find an answer in them, for which he found none. The Elf's eyes were dead, empty of any emotion including fear.

_"__Hir nin,"_ the Elf whispered, "please kill me. I would rather die in your hands than at the hands of an Orc."

"Hush! Do not think you are to die now."

But Thanduil was apprehensive of what was undoubtedly to come: one or both of them were going to die.

"Please…."

The Elf took a hesitant step toward Thranduil, who cautiously reached out to him in a reassuring gesture.

"What is your name?" he asked. The Elf seemed taken aback by the personal question, but answered nonetheless.

"I am called Nendir, my Lord."

"Nendir, I will-"

But Thranduil never got to finish his sentence because just then, Tarburz grabbed Nendir's neck from behind and brutally snapped it, tossing the now dead Elf to the side. The startled Thranduil spared one last glimpse of Nendir's regretful face before, crying in outrage, charging to meet Tarburz's sword. It would have been a fairer fight had he not been injured so much. As the two stood on par, Tarburz reached down and grasped Thranduil's injured right thigh as if he were to crush it. The searing pain was so unbearable that Thranduil quickly lost strength and slammed down on his right knee, prompting Tarburz to punch his face and send him sliding across the floor. There was much cursing and kicking from the Elves as they were forced to witness the beating of their king.

On the ground, Thranduil coughed and spit out a mixture of blood and spittle, angrily wiping the remains from his lips. He whirled around expecting to find Tarburz stomping towards him, but instead found the _elleth_ from the cell yesterday, with a strange, incomprehensible emotion etched onto her complexion.

"Let's try this again," growled Tarburz, "FIGHT!"

Thranduil did not heed the Orc's words, but gazed curiously at the female warrior in front of him. There was sadness in her that he could not fathom. Her green orbs were wide, but he could tell it was not from fear of the Orcs. Instead, she seemed to be a little distant, whether she was fearful of something outside, Thranduil could only guess. She also seemed oddly confident and determined.

"My king Thranduil," she said, "my name is Talia and I have a request of you." She spoke quickly, for she sensed an impatient Tarburz behind her about to strike.

"Please duck."

With those words, Talia hurled a dagger at Thranduil's direction and bent low, narrowly avoiding Tarburz's swipe and rolled over to her king. Thankfully, Thranduil's lightning reflexes had pulled him away from the projectile, which had ended up embedding itself into the Orc directly behind him. Talia grasped the hilt, and as the Orc dropped onto the floor, the dagger easily slid out. A small gap had formed in the circle of Orcs to which Talia bolted, grabbing Thranduil on the way. He had caught on quickly and was now helping Talia fight off the Orcs that were starting to close in on them.

"Elbereth that was dangerous! Do you have a plan?" he asked.

"The element of surprise, my lord," she replied, "unfortunately, we are running out of that option." She had to talk in between parries and blows as the two Silvan Elves battled their way to escape.

"Watch out-"

An arrow swiped at Thranduil's hair, cutting off his words. The archers had come. Luck teased the two Elves as the many arrows just barely missed the two, until it ultimately betrayed them and Thranduil was finally hit on his right shoulder. The force almost caused him to lose his footing, but Talia was instantly there to catch him. She had heard him grunt and had not hesitated a second to turn around to support her king. She would not abandon him this time. They were being surrounded, however, and any chance of escape was becoming slimmer by the second. Green eyes as wide as saucers, she whispered a silent prayer to the Valar as she watched the monsters inch closer.

"NO!" roared Tarburz, "NOT THOSE ARROWS. DON'T KILL HIM YOU FOOLS!" The Master would have his head if he were to lose the Elvenking.

The archers ceased their shooting, deciding not to risk the wrath of both Tarburz and the Nazgul. Thranduil used the brief confusion to his advantage. He pushed a surprised Talia forward and, keeping as close as he could to her, ran straight at the Orcs blocking the entrance.

_"__Noro! [Run!]" _he shouted, "whatever happens, keep going!" She obeyed without question. Now was not the time to argue.

Trying not to feel the burn in his shoulder, Thranduil swung sloppily at the Orcs in a desperate attempt to keep them at bay. Strangely, they didn't seem too intent on attacking him, but he simply concluded that it was because they didn't want to kill him. He found out the truth, however, when his arm jerked out of its own accord and dropped the sword.

'Of course the arrow is poisoned!' he thought to himself. The Orcs weren't scared of hurting him; they were waiting for him to weaken on his own. It was beginning to get very difficult to ignore his shoulder as invisible claws tore apart his muscles. He was not going to make it.

Talia noticed that Thranduil was starting to lag behind, and stopped to help when he yelled for her to continue.

"My Lord, I am not leaving you amongst these" – she sliced the throat of a nearby Orc – "beasts!"

"They will not kill me, but they will kill you, and you will do better by yourself. Go get help! No questions! _Noro lim!"_ He squeezed out his hoarse voice at the last phrase.

Talia bit her lip and forced her feet to move away from her king. With her dagger, she swung with sharp precision at the exposed throats or outspread hands of Orcs. One small dagger, however, was not sufficient for one Elf to take on an army. A violent push from the side was all it took to get her overwhelmed by hundreds of angry Orcs. Terrified, she screamed as they beat her with every intention to kill. They crushed her with their armored feet and cut her skin with talon-like fingers. It hurt so bad that Talia was soon reduced to a sobbing heap curled up on the floor, but even then they continued to abuse the Elf that had tried to run.

Kneeling on all fours, he heard more than saw Talia fall, but defenseless and disoriented, it was all Thranduil could do to keep his head up. The poison was quick to spread, and he felt nauseous. When he couldn't hold it in any longer, he vomited blood onto the floor, sapping him of any remaining strength and pushing him to the floor. There was an insistent ringing in his ear that obstructed his concentration, but he could feel that he was dying.

'So this is how it ends,' he thought, 'poisoned by an Orc arrow.'

Vaguely, he heard a stomp next to his ear, and somebody roughly grabbed his face and tried to force something into his mouth. He didn't know it was, but it couldn't be pleasant if it was being offered by an Orc, so he weakly turned his head to avoid whatever it was.

"Drink it if you don't want to die Elf scum!" said Tarburz. So it was the Orc draught from before. Thranduil gave Tarburz the dirtiest look he could muster in his state, which wasn't very hard because the pain was hardly letting him keep a straight face.

"I would rather die."

"Oh somebody will die, but it won't be you." Talia screamed an octave higher if that was even possible as the beatings intensified.

"No…no…." muttered Thranduil. Tarburz stunned him by slapping him on the cheek, and hastily poured the draught into his mouth. The effects of the poison started to wear off, and the familiar warm sensation of phony strength returned to Thranduil as he choked on the black liquid. Once the pouch was emptied, Tarburz shoved him onto the floor and ordered several Orcs to take him back to the cell. They've had enough excitement for today. They didn't seem very happy that Talia had interfered with their fun, and Thranduil sobbed within himself for the courageous _elleth_ that had been unnecessarily sacrificed.

Once he was thrown back into his cell, all became quiet as if the day's events had never happened. But the effects remained on his body and his mind. How long was this going to go on? Talia would surely die as punishment for her escape attempt. How much more Elvish blood must be sacrificed to satisfy the beasts' lust? More importantly, when will help arrive?

Will help arrive…?

Not having the energy to move even a finger, Thranduil lay on the cold, bare floor with a blank look on his face. He was determined from the beginning not to despair and give into the cruelty of Orcs, but now he was not so sure. The mental torment was worse than the physical. He could not bear to continue grieving for his perished subjects. He could not bear to watch them die any more.

There was no moon that night, and the Mirkwood Elves' lights seemed to diminish. Amidst the sorrow and darkness, a lone, quiet voice drifted through the halls of the dungeon. It did not reach the ears of any who cared, nor to those who needed it, but it was there to offer solace to wounded souls. Thranduil was softly singing in his cell, a melancholy tune that he had not sung since his father's death. The single tear that rolled down Thranduil's cheeks would not be the last.

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><p><strong>Finally I'm done! God! That took such a long time…. I'm so sorry guys, school's been very busy. I have so many papers, quizzes, readings, exams and it's only been 3 weeks : And because I got cut off in the middle, I had a sort of writer's block right around Talia emerged. This wasn't my best chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it. **


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